A Rose For Elsie
by OooodlesOfNooodles
Summary: England believes in magic again, or so they think. The Cottingley Fairies have captured the hearts of all those throughout the city of London. Including the Queen and her faithful watchdog, Ciel Phantomhive. Soon Ciel encounters Elsie, and there is a force between the two of them that is so much more than the magic brewing beneath the dark underbelly of London. CielxOC
1. Where the Fairies Roam

**Chapter 1: Where the Fairies Roam**

Once upon a time, there was a manor house drenched deep within the thick fogs of England. A manor house that was built, destroyed, then rebuilt again. It has seen the birth and demise of those who lived in it. A mother, a father, and finally a child that it nearly took. But it, unfortunately, did not.

The child has reached his eighteenth year. And according to society, he has grown into a fine and eligible young gentleman. _According to society_ , that is. But in actuality, he has grown into a menacing thing, really. His soul is rancid and rots from spending too much time down below in the under belly of London. He smiles and laughs at the misfortune of others, it is a thrilling pastime he partakes in. If there is a shriek of terror or a cry of pain, you can bet that he is around the corner, reveling in the darkness he reaps.

Surprisingly, he still has enough time to dabble in his toy and candy business, Funtom Corporation. Which is flourishing throughout England, not to gloat.

The manor currently houses an Earl, his servants, and his butler.

While the rest of England was alive and awake, hustling and bustling. There was one young man who refused to cater to that tedious act. So, he laid in bed resting.

Ruthlessly, the curtains were thrust open, deliberate but poised. It was a repetitious and monotonous act that was performed and repeated day after day, for several years. There was no way to add flair to this painfully dull task, but Sebastian Michaelis managed just fine.

The butler let in the morning sun. Immediately, slithers of gold light began to rampage throughout the room. Bouncing off the walls, floors, and embroidered tapestries. Then the horrendous happened, a fragment of light bounced from the mirror to the glass vase to the tea cup which was held by none other than the complacent butler, whom did not dare to alter the trajectory of the light that pierced the young master's right eye.

The butler seemed pleased with himself, he dared not apologize or rebuke his actions. He only smiled. Damn him.

The Earl of Phantomhive, the wicked Queen's Watchdog, a powerful player in the game of darkness and deceit, was not a morning person, at all.

Ciel groaned and pulled the covers over his head, sluggishly. The down feather pillow cushioned his head angelically, he found himself trapped within this sweet indulgence. He could not part from this solitary moment of comfort.

But like all delicious moments in life, they are temporary and fleeting. A voice he dared not listen to begin to speak. Sebastian spoke, articulately, "It is time to awake young master." He poured tea and set the cup down on a porcelain saucer. "Today's breakfast is poached eggs and a salad of sliced cucumbers garnished with dill."

Finally, Ciel sat up in bed. He ran a hand through his hair and titled his head back. Why does morning have to come so quickly? He waved away his breakfast and instead he only took nourishment from the cup of tea. He spoke, "This is chamomile, correct?"

"Yes, young master." Sebastian covered the plate of poached eggs with a silver dome cover. Maybe Bard will eat the leftovers.

"But the aroma," Ciel said, "seems different. It's the same, but something's changed."

"I compliment your heightened senses, you are correct. Our usual market from which we purchase the chamomile tea leaves discontinued selling the brand line some time ago. Finnian, has took it upon himself to plant and cultivate the leaves himself in the garden for your benefit. Although it is different from commercial brands, forgive me for saying. If the taste does not suit you, I shall find another brand that fits your liking."

Ciel took another tip of the warm drink that filled his stomach, and his heart. "That won't be necessary. This will do fine."

"Thank you, young master. Then I shall relay the joyous news to our simpleton gardener."

Ciel laid back in his bed, reading the morning newspaper. His eyes quickly read down the articles. Obnoxious black ink consumed his vision.

"Today's plan follows as suit, you have studies to complete with Tutor Hughes, a meeting with Tai Yeoung over the trading proposal, which will most likely take up majority of the day, considering how fickle the man is." Sebastian sighed, "Finally, the fitting with Madame Alice over the wedding rehearsal ensembles. Miss Elizabeth has already undergone her fitting of her gown and is becoming quite irritable that you haven't done so already."

Ciel, abruptly, flicked away the creases in his newspaper. He straightened the gray paper that utterly and completely occupied his attention. Only a fraction of his untidy hair could be seen behind the paper, hiding his presence.

It failed, miserably.

Sebastian did the audacious, he perched his hand forward and crumpled the middle of the paper, revealing a scowling Ciel. "It is rude for a gentleman of high society to blatantly post pone a fitting, especially that for of his own wedding. I don't know what Miss Elizabeth sees in a shy wall-flower such as yourself. Are you that socially apprehensive that you cannot make an appearance down town?"

"I am not shy." Ciel snatched the paper away, now full of more unpleasant looking creases and folds. He smacked the paper with the back of his hand than placed it on his nightstand and spoke, fervently, "I have more urgent matters that acquire my attention than sampling ridiculous costumes made for monkeys performing in the circus."

Sebastian smirked, "That's harsh to call oneself a monkey, young master. But it is even more sorrowful that I must work for one, what does that make I? The monkey's trainer?"

"You are more like a wild and savage beast, growling for scraps of meat within the confides of a cage, increasingly growing hungrier with each morsel thrown at you. Tell me, how hungry are you?"

"With each passing day. It is only slightly more than what it was yesterday."

"Do your best to contain yourself."

Sebastian bowed, feigning gratitude. "Thank you, I am most unworthy to receive such concern."

Ciel scoffed and picked up the newspaper, "Never mind your playacting."

Sebastian straightened his back and smirked, "ah, it is too early in the morning for such trivial things. But it also makes me wonder how unfortunate Miss Elizabeth will be when you won't even be sharing beds let alone being in the same room with her. I feel so sorry for the maiden."

"Quit your ceaseless rambling and look at this," Ciel pointed to an article on the front page spread of the _London Gazette_ with utter distaste that could make milk curdle. There was a huge title and huge font and huge praise and compliments, which were not about himself in anyway. Black ink signatures that sprawled all over the page were not even about him or his company. These words that were not about the Funtom Corporation's new limited addition plush stuffed animals, cotton candy pink and blue bunnies and teddy bears. Or the release of the Funtom's everlasting gum that changes colors with every chew and blow. He knew these new pieces were show stoppers, but the printing press had the audacity to change the layout of the paper at the last possible minute. Ciel, had to succumb to utter defeat by accepting the fill up blank spaces on the second page of the paper! Second! The earl of Phantomhive always and only settles for first place.

Sebastian nodded his head and examined the paper, "No wonder you are in a foul mood. This is no way to wake up on a beautiful morning."

"So, you've seen these stories before. Honestly, I thought these silly rumors would die down by now, but no, the masses gave in to all this folly and now these idiotic stories take the front page away from real news."

"Like your cotton candy plush bunnies and teddy bears?"

"Exactly!" Ciel barked. Then he breathed and spoke again with clarity. "I paid good money, in advance, for the Funtom Company to take up the front-page spot of London Gazette paper." Anybody who's anybody, reads the notorious London Gazette. At least the literate do...Anyway. "Especially during the May day season. How dare they treat me this way."

"It is true that dogs become grumpy when they are not given treats they are promised." Sebastian said, musingly.

"Why are you in such a good mood?"

"Well," Sebastian pointed to the article and said, "it is not every day someone discoveries fairies flying throughout London."

The front page spread, which the Phantomhive earl so desperately despises, has a black and white photograph of a country girl dressed in her Sunday's best surrounded by small, whimsical creatures dancing around her. The fairies were clothed with frilly veils that flowed with each jump and leap they took into the air. Then there was one flying above the girl and placing a crown crafted with an abundance of flowers. Some baby's breath and a few forget-me-not flowers.

The girl was smiling, possibly laughing.

The Cottingley Fairies, what they were called, enchanted and captivated all of England. They consumed the minds of the masses, taking up newspaper spots and became the idle chat of old and young alike. They had the power to make the grand country of England believe in magic again. Ciel scoffed at ludicrous image.

Ciel eyed the picture, crudely.

But mostly, the girl in the center of it all.

Her name was Elsie, who was credited for taking multiple photographs of the enchanting fairies near her home in Cottingley. She was getting so much fame and glory.

Ciel made up his mind that he did not like her.

* * *

"Elsie!" Frances called from the open window from the cottage. "Hurry! Father is developing the photographs! You must see them!" She hurriedly closed the window in her excited state.

Elsie smiled and repositioned her basket down by her knees. She plucked more chamomile leaves one by one, by examination. She gracefully lifted one towards her nose and took a whiff of the pleasant aroma. It melted her heart in the best way. She had to tuck her straw hat in her basket, so she feared that the harsh winds would blow it away and she'd never see it again.

She placed moves leaves into her basket until it reached the right amount to fill four cups of tea at the breakfast table. She stood up and dusted off her frock. She brushed away blades of grass and specks of brown dirt that drifted towards the ground.

She picked up her basket and went inside to meet her father and sister in the 'lab' room. Which was really the renovated closet with one small, stain glass window. But the room turned into a fascinating place where they all developed the pictures she's taken around Cottingley meadows, where they live near.

The father, Gabriel rolled up his sleeves and gestured to Elsie, "close the door dear. I haven't finished developing the pictures yet."

Elsie closed the door behind her and leaned over her younger sister Frances who was thirteen years old. She rested her chin on Frances's head of blonde wavy curls. "I hope these will come out beautifully like the others did."

"I know they will," Frances chimed. "You took them in the meadows and they will undoubtedly be beautiful like the others."

"Will that make you happy Frances?"

"Truly!" Frances smiled her toothy grin with a blank space in one spot. Frances only had one baby tooth left, and she dutifully managed not to wiggle it or loosen it for as long as she could. Then one morning she lost her last baby tooth by running, when she should have been walking, to collect eggs from the chickens. She ended up tripping over an uplifted root, when she tried to jump over it, and she hit the ground face first.

She cried all afternoon and evening. She lost her last baby tooth, and to her, it meant she was no longer a child.

Elsie was able to calm her down with a slice of homemade frosted lemon bread by nightfall.

Frances turned around and Elsie saw her younger sister's pale complexion and frail bones and shallow eyes. Day by day, her skin became paler, her bones became frailer, her eyes became shallower, but her heart remained untouched and was big as ever. It stung Elsie's heart to see her sister in such a state, but she was sick, and that could not be helped.

"Elsie!" Frances said, "Did the Fairy Queen like the house I made for her?" Frances worked many days and nights to create a cute little house made out of bark and twigs and moss for the fairies to live in. There was a living room, a kitchen, and a play room with toys such a jacks and even a piece of Funtom candy, caramel flavored. The fairies like caramel the best, or so Frances says.

"They most certainly did! The Queen told me herself. And she loves the cotton bed you made for her with the tulip flowers. Her wings were so sore from flying so much, she was grateful for the resting spot you made her."

Frances practically jumped up and down with joy upon hearing the good news. Until she slowly stopped and began to cough into her hands. Panic rose throughout Elsie, she ran to the kitchen to get a cloth and placed it near Frances mouth.

Frances looked down at the cloth then up then back at the cloth. She smiled wholeheartedly and looked up at Elsie, "Look, there's no blood today. That means I'm getting better."

Elsie tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her sister's ear, sadly, "ay, that you are."

When the picture was fully developed, the girls, the father, and mother huddled around it. There was so much joy radiated in Frances's face when she say the fairies twirling their dresses around a pool of water near the creek. Then she laughed when one fairy jumped off a mushroom to dive into the water. "Did it make a big splash?" She giggled.

"For a fairy it was a big splash, it even got the ribbon on my dress wet! The other fairies admonished it for being for tomboyish."

Frances stood up with her hands on her hips and her chin held up high, "Well if I was a fairy, I'd be jumping into the creeks like that one and my splashs wouldn't be so small. They be gigantic tidal waves and even the fish will fly into the air and plop back into the water from the shock. The other fairies who admonished me will see how much fun I'm having and can't help, but join me!"

Elsie hunched over and laughed tremendously. That is something her adventurous litter sister would definitely do. "A tidal wave? Have you even been to the ocean before?

"Yes I have! Father took me there when he was trading horses with Mister Makel who lives near a harbor port. Afterwards, father and I went to a candy shop and bought Funtom lollipops! We ate them while watching the waves and mist crashe against the shore. It was spectacular.

"Wait a minute," Elsie held up her hands, "I don't remember you bringing home lollipops for me or mother."

Frances laughed, "that's because I ate them all on the ride home!"

After laughing and horse playing, the family sat around at the kitchen table. First with Elsie leading the morning prayer then they all drank the chamomile tea with scones the mother baked that morning.

The father read the _London Gazette_ , proudly. There was even some talk that if they saved up enough money they can go to the ocean when Frances gets better. The girls were ecstatic, but mostly, Elsie took so much pleasure from watching her sister react to how big old London is starting to believe in magic all over again.

Elsie always did wonder why the older people grow the more they stop believing in the miraculous. It was a rather odd thing.

She added one sugar lump into her tea and stirred. She prayed that no matter how old she becomes, she will always believe in the miraculous that is around her.

Even when Frances is no longer by her side.

Later in the evening, Frances coughed and stained rags with deep red. There was no promise going to the ocean anytime soon.

* * *

Ciel stretched his arms over his head and yawned, loudly. It was a long day of tedious work, completing his economic and geography studies with his relentless tutor, and finally making his business associate succumb to his own terms of the trading agreement (for sugar, nonetheless). He did manage to stall his fitting with Madame Alice once again. There is a bright side to even the darkest of days.

Ciel fumbled with the letter in his hands, sent to him none other than the Queen. Only the superfluous and unnecessary was written in the letter. I will spare you all the annoying details, such as "C _ongratulations on your engagement! Alfred would have loved to be invited to your wedding...Alfred...poor Alfred..."_ Ciel began to hear the cries of her majesty echoing throughout his study. Ciel's brow twitched. God save the Queen.

There was one detail that acquired Ciel's full attention, and it was one that as the Queen's faithful watchdog could not ignore or postpone. He rang for Sebastian and soon enough. Sebastion came through the mahogany doors with a silver cart wheeling in front of him. Ciel could already taste the aroma of freshly baked macaroons with whipped cream. But what flavor was it? Raspberry or strawberry? He couldn't wait to sink his teeth into the scrumptious treat.

Sebastian placed the silverware on Ciel's desk and unveiled the treat.

Ciel smiled to himself. It was a raspberry macaroon. The flaky, cookie crust was magenta hued and was adorned with glistening berries. He already found himself with his spoon in hand. No. He must give orders, then dive into this heavenly delight.

He laid down his spoon and spoke, "The Queen has commanded a most...interesting job."

"What does her majesty request of you?"

Ciel swiveled in his chair, barely. He placed his fingers to his lips and leaned back in his chair, then he swished his hand in the air as if it was the most obvious thing to do. "She wants to see a fairy."

Sebastian bowed, "Then I will see to it that we present her the most beautiful fairy we can acquire. But, how will we get one? The market, sadly, does not cater to what we are searching for."

Ciel slid the newspaper towards Sebastian and smirked, "Let's invite them over. I love to speak with the girl who has London wrapped around her fingertips."

"Oh, really?" Sebastian mused. "Is it not because you, yourself, who wants to believe in the existence of these mythical creatures? That's a very childish move. Giving into tabloids just like the rest of the masses. I am disappointed in you, young master." Master Ciel is not the only childish person in the household. Finnian has taken extra precautions when pruning weeds and sheering hedges. He's grown slower at his work, not wanting to cut through a fairy's wings. Mey Rin's gaze always drifts towards the windows in search of flying creatures, when her gaze should really be on the stairs she's polishing or the dishes she's carrying. She's been having more mishaps lately. Baldroy adamantly claims fairies do not exist, but Sebastian has caught him leaving out pecans and cookies at the almost every windowsill. Since those are a fairy's favorite snack. Then there is Tanaka, who has done the same thing he's always done, what an outstanding steward.

Ciel swiveled around in his chair and smiled, "When the world is tainted by corrupt thieves, swindlers, and liars, one cannot help but turn their head at the claim of pure innocence and magic; wondering whether or not it's real. It shines like a diamond in a mountain of black coal, it's hard not to look at. I do admit, I am curious of the girl who stole the front page spread away from me. Invite them, gorge them, spoil them, shower them with hospitality. Liars tend to admit the truth more easily when they are doted upon. Now _If_ , there is a fairy. Maybe our new friend will be so generous as to gift us with one."

"And if there isn't?" Sebastian asked.

Ciel picked up his spoon, "Let's not think of the _is not's_ for now. The truth reveals itself in time."

"Your words are not mine, young master."

"You are excused now. Go and do as I've commanded of you."

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian left with orders to fulfill.

Finally, Ciel dug into the macaroon he's desperately waited to feast upon. The cookie cracked when the spoon pierced the skin. The chips fell unto the plate, don't worry, he'll get to those later. With one bite, the sensation of the cookie left his mouth tingling with delight.

Raspberries taste the best in spring time. That is one miraculous thing Ciel believes in.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Hi! The first thing I want to say is thank you for reading the first chapter of my first Kuroshitsuji story! So, some things are different, Ciel is aged up in my story. He is 18 years old, a 'refined' gentleman, and there are plans for him to marry Elizabeth. (LOL it was going to happen sooner or later)**

 **So, this is my second go at a romance story. The main love interest is going to be between Ciel and Elsie (OC). Maybe there will be a love triangle. (and probably from the whole Ciel and Elizabeth marriage thing, there will be drama and fluff LOL )But I would like to know if you guys are willing to read this story, so I know whether or not to write more. Are you interested in reading further? And what were you favorite moments that you liked? If you guys liked it and want more, Ciel and Elsie will definitely be meeting each other in the next chapter!**

 **I would so appreciate reviews, favs, follows! Tell me what you thought please! Thx for giving this a read!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji, no matter how awesome it is.**


	2. Into the Belly of the Beast

**Chapter 2: Into the Belly of the Beast **

_Its words are sweet._

 _They taste like honey._

 _But, whatever you do,_

 _Don't trust the beast._

 _I tell you, please._

 _Forsake the luxuries they promise,_

 _Disown the pleasures they give._

 _I tell you this for your own good, please don't turn away from me._

 _The honey they give is but rancid vinegar._

 _Those silk dresses rapidly age unkindly into dirt, old rags._

 _Fine, walk away. You only have yourself to blame,_

 _I cannot help those who chose to_

 _Bellow in the belly of the beast._

* * *

A dark cloud seemed to loom over her cottage that day.

The letter came swiftly and promptly, as was expected of the Phantomhive household. But to Elsie, gazing upon the Phantomhive family emblem, sent shivers down her spine.

It was that Sunday afternoon in which Elsie's family was cordially invited to pay a visit to the Earl of Phantomhive. Apparently, the earl was a fan of her work and proclaimed to be an enthusiastic aficionado of the supernatural, or so the letter said.

Elsie distinctly remembered the butler that tapped, what seemed to her voraciously, on the cottage door. He knocked only three times, and smiled diplomatically when the door opened for him. He was clothed in all black, as any butler would be dressed. But he seemed rather unearthly to her. His figure was slender and his jaw was chiseled to perfection and his eyes eloped all those that gazed within them. Tantalizing. Alluring. Captivating. This man was too handsome to be a butler. To handsome to even exist other than in fairy tales. He could be a kind of a magical kingdom or a wizard dispelling darkness across the lands or a knight heroically saving a princess.

But despite being unearthly handsome. He did not fit any of the wonderful options. Elsie gazed upon him, monotonously. And knew. There was no goodness in him. Him and the letter he brought, seemed like death itself rapped at their door and they kindly let him in.

Not that it mattered, the man did not look like death, especially to Elsie's mother. Whose face flushed a ridiculous shade of crimson red that would put any rose to shame, and wilt scornfully in the garden. The woman stared longingly at the butler, and it seemed to the butler that he was used to the attention.

A coach arrived for them in the following days.

Elsie gripped the sides of her best dress, that her mother painstakingly washed and ironed and dried under the sun. It was a ruffled, white dress that contrasted with her dark hair. She looked over to Frances, who wore an elaborate pink ribbon in her hair. She looked giddy and excited to meet the Earl of Phantomhive. Then there was her mother and father, nervous and uptight upon meeting someone of high society. Her father even brought his business cards with him, to grace the earl with.

Elsie wondered why they were given several days of _preparation,_ as the butler distinctly said to her. Looking her directly in the eyes. Several days for what? Getting her story straight, her facts? Were they looking to unravel and disband everything she's done, like so many others before the Earl.

Elsie held her photo album of all the pictures she's taken, her with the fairies and others without her entirely. She opened it up and saw her marvelous creatures. They flew throughout the sky and danced on toad stools. They jumped into the water, splashing merrily as the droplets fell unto rocks like morning rain, glistening under the sun.

The coach jostled, until it came to a gradual stop. Elsie looked up from the album and through the curtained window. The bright light dulled her vision, then it slowly began to sharpen.

The coach door opened, but she could not find it in herself to step one foot out of it. She saw him and everything that he was. His cerulean hair and his sapphire eye, one hidden under a patch that did not at all hinder his beauty. There was a mischievous quirk in his smile, small but defiant. His presence was overwhelming and outshined all those around him, the maids and butlers and staff. That's exactly how he likes it.

What a ruthless creature he was for taking her breath away.

He stood there and parted his lips, angelically. "Welcome to my manor."

* * *

It was the first time Elsie walked halls whose walls seemed to be made of glittering diamonds and an abundance of jewels. (It seems Mey-rin has gone overboard on the polishing gel, well, kudos for her for not breaking every cup and saucer in the china cabinet for once. Well done.)

The family was led into the red-room, where the Earl commonly greets guests to fine tea and sweets and merry chatter, a wonderful pastime.

Elsie gazed upon the magnificent décor of the room. The tapestries and veils that hung from the ceiling, depicted chivalrous knights raising their home flag, marching straight into battle with their sights set on victory. The curtains were drawn open and basked the room with radiant beams of light against the white frames of the windows. Elsie thought, as she glanced from white window to white window that stood out from the red hues of the tapestries, walls, and furniture. She tilted her head to the side.

The room looks like the mouth of the beast, with its white teeth protruding from its crimson mouth. And Elsie was the prey, the sweet lamb, that was about to walk into the belly of the beast.

Then she smelled the alluring aroma of vanilla and cinnamon. Her favorite. She stepped inside the room and her family followed.

Frances squealed, joyfully. She was the first to run towards the platter of cookies with cream and crepes with chocolate bits and other scrumptious treats.

She stood on her tip toes as she gazed upon the glorious site of heaven in front of her. She pointed to one sweet she did not recognize. It was a stacked cookie with a cream filling, adorned with berries. "What's this?" She said.

Sebastian answered, kindly. Already serving her a platter of the cookies. "These are French macaroons, cookies and cream of assorted flavors. We have orange, cherry blossom, chocolate mousse, coconut, raspberry, strawberry, and blackberry." Frances jaw dropped as Ciel laughed.

"Don't overwhelm the young Miss, Sebastian. Please be courteous. If she can't make up her mind to which one she wants, then she must taste them all."

Sebastian spoke, daring, "Speaking from experience? That is your approach to these things as well, if I am not mistaken."

Ciel leaned forward from his chair and picked up a magenta macaroon using a silver utensil then placed it on a plate in Frances's hands. The raspberry cookie was adorned with fresh berries glistening in the center. He smiled, lightly. "These are my favorite. My butler makes the best sweets in all of Great Britain."

"My lord, I'm starting to think this is the sole reason you invite so many guests to the manor. To refrain from your studies, but most importantly to indulge in sweets."

"Is ia a sin to share our vast splendors with others?"

"According to you I think not, but what will the Queen think?"

Ciel turned towards the little girl, Frances. Who already took a bite of the cookie and was already swooning over in her chair. Then he turned to Sebastian and said, loudly. "Folly."

Frances giggled in her seat as did the rest of the family, but Elsie stayed quiet and remained contempt.

Sebastian sighed to himself as he poured several cups of tea, "If only her majesty knows."

Ciel smiled and diverted his attention from him, "And what do you think Miss Elsie? Our guest of honor. Should I tell her majesty of my timely indulgences?"

Elsie's attention was caught off guard as Sebastian handed her a cup of tea. She thanked him and said, "Not if it will displease her majesty."

Ciel grinned as he pierced the skin of the cookie with a spoon. Cookie flakes jumped down onto the porcelain plate. "Then I'll tell her something else, such as spending my time dedicated to my tasks rather than eating sweets on her valuable time."

"Well," Elsie said, "I think that will displease her even more if you lie to her majesty."

"You're right. God knows how ill she tolerates liars filling up the streets of our home, Great Britain. What do you think her majesty does to liars, Elsie?" Ciel smiled. Silence slithered through the room, the only sound to erupt was the crunch of cookies in the spectators' mouths as they watched the witty battle brew in front of them. Elsie looked beneath that angelic grin of Ciel Phantomhive and saw the face of a mischievous goblin, relishing in the trouble it has stirred. "Do speak loudly, I am faint of hearing."

Sebastian smirked at the remark. The young master's hearing is roughly but weak. He even hears the pitter patter of footsteps outside his bedroom walls when he is trying to sleep. Sebastian usually takes it upon himself to walk a little more forcefully than his normal feather light footsteps.

The goblin patiently waited for her response and she gave it to him.

"She raises the tax of milk and sugar. And suddenly people start telling the truth again." Elsie said, with a strong voice. Suddenly, she heard a stifled chuckle behind her. It was Sebastian, the butler, with a hand covering his mouth.

"It seems my butler agrees with you." Ciel said. Then he wondered, if he wasn't exempt from taxes and had to empty his pockets to the queen like everyone else. He thought he would surely go bankrupt. One, Ciel spared no expense for sugar. Two, he spared no expense to cease lying. Surely, he would be penniless in less than a year. He coughed, "Let's put aside all this lying nonsense, since it doesn't involve _any_ of us. Elsie, would you care to show me the photographs you've taken of the fairies. I've heard they are so realistic, but the newspaper fails to give it its due justice."

Elsie knew that this boy, only a little older than she was, was trying to provoke her. Provoke her to come clean and reveal her secrets. He can taunt her all he likes, but he will not get the best of her. Instead, she smiled and handed him the album of all the photographs she has taken with the Cottingley fairies.

Ciel flipped the pages with his servants noticeably trying to peer at the pictures from behind him. Finnian and Mey-rin were the first to give rational excuses as to the reason the why they were needed in the red-room. Mey-rin said that the windows weren't properly polished, despite them being perfectly spotless. Finnian said the flower vases needed watering, despite them being made of wax. Baldroy was also there, but only to keep the two of them in check, despite looking the most delighted when seeing a photograph of a small fairy whisk through the sky.

Frances stood next to Ciel and exclaimed which photos were her favorite. Which were all of them, to be precise.

"Wow! They're real fairies!" chimed Finnian.

"Like the ones in fairy tales!" exclaimed Mey-rin.

"I wonder if there are any back home in America. Ma would love to see them." Said Baldroy.

Ciel fingers lingered over the pictures as if he was trying to uncover what truly laid beneath them. But all he saw were these lithe, mystical creatures. Whose bodies danced and jumped and flew with so much rhythm. Their wings, caught fragments of the light and appeared white on the gray scale photograph. Ciel looked up at Elsie, "Did you hear that, Miss Elsie? You got the whole country to believe in magic again. Not just anyone can do that." He gazed upon another picture, one with a fairy using a leaf as an umbrella to protect itself against the blinding sun.

"Thank you."

"What's your secret?" Ciel said, looking up at her.

"I have none." She said, as Sebastian put another cookie on her plate, despite no longer being hungry.

"Everyone has secrets."

"It's no secret that anyone can take a picture and submit it to the newspaper. I just got lucky they picked mine."

"So, if I take my camera and go out into the garden now, will I stumble across fairies?"

"That depends upon them and if they want their pictures taken. Fairies are notoriously shy."

"But not around you."

"I am fortunate enough, but yes."

Ciel smirked and snapped his fingers. When he did, Sebastian immediately brought out a small camera, which was composed of a wooden box, shutter, and lid. He laid the contraption in Ciel's hands. "It would be an hour for you to bring me good fortune, Miss Elsie."

* * *

The Phantomhive garden was nothing like the cottingley meadows.

The bushes and trees were well cut and cropped into simple and clean shapes. While the flowers were planted neatly beside the other in orderly lines.

Ciel and Elsie walked on and on, and it was no surprise that they did not find a single fairy. Far in the background, they heard the laughs of Frances being carried on Finnian's back. He loved making children laugh.

"Tell me, Miss Elsie." Ciel said while walking through the garden. The camera laid around his neck with a black strap. His cane tapped unkindly on the cobblestone pathway. "Now that we are in secrecy, how does one come upon this seldom meeting with a fairy? But it seems to me that they do not wish to meet us as much as I would like to meet them."

Elsie swallowed, looking down then up at the Earl. His presence was fore boarding and she couldn't help but feel a chill in the air when his gaze locked onto her. She spoke, confidently. "It is not at all seldom as you may think. It is quite easy, actually. I have played with fairies my entire life in Cottingley. Near the cottage and in the meadows and sometimes in the creak. They are in an abundance there. But here… there are none."

"Are you sure? I may have misunderstood moments ago when you said fairies weren't shy around you."

"It is not my or your presence, but the garden itself. Your garden is lovely and the best I've seen but, forgive me for saying, it's not home."

"Not home? The best horticulturalists and artisans have designed my garden to perfection. Also, there are no weeds in the cracks or vines crawling up trees and breaking through breaks or wild flowers growing in the pond. It is home to me."

"To you it is, but not to the fairies. You got rid of everything they call home. They love the weeds and dandelions protruding through the cracks in cobblestones. They love the vines growing on the side of trees and brick walls which they use to climb and play."

"Let me guess, they love the wild flowers growing in ponds too."

"They love that the most."

Ciel thought for a moment then said. "It seems I will have to tell my gardener to refrain from properly maintaining the gardens. But I'm surprised to hear that you say it's easy to spot fairies. I'm sad to say London has cheated me out of this magical encounter, while it has looked so kindly on you. I have lived in London my entire life, and I have yet to see a spritely creature with wings pass by my bedroom window."

"Something is amiss if birds or bugs or bats do not bid you good day at your windowsill. I'm so sorry for your unhappiness, Earl."

"Indeed, there is." Ciel smiled, amused. "I'm sad to say that I am not too fond of nature and those that dwell within it like moths and caterpillars and horseflies. I dare say, that they are not too fond of me, so I do my best to avoid them at all costs."

"Well, the wilderness is a dangerous place. Many people agree, but may I ask? Horseflies, my lord? They are the most docile of insects. Even their wings are patterned differently from each of their sister species and radiate their own unique beauty. In fact, their wings are the most like a fairy's."

Ciel closed his eyes and shook, just a little, enough to make Elsie giggle. Which was surprising that a wicked person like him can make her do, "I beg of you, let's change the subject shall we."

"Of course, but what if we were to come across a horsefly? Which is not seldom during this time of year. Will you leave me in its company?"

"It is against Phantomhive hospitality to leave a guest amongst themselves wandering aimlessly through the dangers of the world. I will not stand for it."

"In the garden?"

"Precisely."

"I am glad to know that I am safe in your company. What of outside the garden then? Surely there are more frightening things out there?" Elsie said, then immediately regretted when she saw the look in the Earl's eye. Wide and shocked. Elsie wished she could take back her words, it was rude of her to suggest that her, a commoner, would be affiliated with an aristocrat out in the public's eye. She was about to apologize until he turned towards her and stopped walking. He stepped forward, only a little.

"You are a valued guest at my home. Today. I know not of tomorrow and the days after and the circumstances for you and I that lie outside my gates."

"I'm apologize for my overfamiliarity in manner."

"Don't be. I grow weary in a house full of familiarity." Ciel looked past his shoulder and paused. "Shall we test the subject?"

"I beg your pardon."

Ciel looked towards the end of the garden, past the weeping willows whose branches dangled lifelessly towards the ground. They flittered over the grass and over the wild flowers, untouched by Finnian's hands. At the end of the garden there is a stable, which carries a few interesting commodities. A few pure bread horses and the first of its kind, an automobile.

"My dear, shall we venture beyond these gates and see if the world is truly frightening as you claim?"

* * *

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	3. Through Traitor's Gate

**Chapter 3: Through Traitor's Gate**

Ciel looked towards the end of the garden, past the weeping willows whose branches dangled lifelessly towards the ground. They flittered over the grass and over the wild flowers, untouched by Finnian's hands. At the end of the garden there is a stable, which carries a few interesting commodities. A few pure bread horses and the first of its kind, an automobile.

"My dear, shall we venture beyond these gates and see if the world is truly frightening as you claim?"

Elsie looked down at the automobile. It was large and black and its wheels were the size of the top of a barrel. She's seen them in the city of London when she's traveled with her father, but never has she ever ridden in one before. The thought of her and Ciel running away from the manor sent her face blushing. "Earl, what would her Majesty say when she hears you lying to a young maiden?"

Ciel smiled, the corner of his mouth rising like the sun, as he outreached his hand. "I believe one wise girl once said that she would raise the tax on milk and sugar. But I did not lie to you."

"You must wish to go penniless," Elsie said, disbelieving. "Or eat pancakes without jam." The breeze shifted through the air, dancing through tree branches, flower petals, and even Elsie's hair. She brushed a hand through her wavy, dark locks; keeping them in place or at least trying to.

"Pancakes without jam." Ciel mumbled back. He looked at Elsie and her hair flying against the current of the wind. There was a single lock of hair drifting in front of her nose, and suddenly he felt the wildest urge to tuck it behind her ear. Sadly, before he could act, she quickly secured the lock when the wind calmed. Ciel internally scorned himself for thinking of such a repulsive thought. Although he made sure it didn't show on his face. Instead, he produced a sound from the vast amount of skills he has excellently acquired over the years through the art of deception, manipulation, and thievery.

He laughed. "That would be a most cruel and unusual punishment."

"Well, the punishment does suits the crime." Elsie hummed in agreement.

"I'd like to think the punishment suits the person who committed the crime. Not just the crime itself."

"Oh my," Elsie feigned an exaggerated gasp. "Earl, I fear for you. I truly do. What a brave soul you must be to never eat a single, sweet pastry till the end of your days. Tea without sugar, bread without jam, fruit without cream. How will you manage?"

"Endurance, my dear," Ciel mused, then parted his lips then back again. Tilting his head to the side, "I'd endure for as long as my mind and body are able…. about a day, no more, no less. Then I'd beg for pardon on my hands and knees before our lovely Queen Victoria. In all modesty." As what the Queen's royal hound would do. Ciel would rather spend the rest of his days idly in a prison cell with a slice of cake than live the rest of his days without it. As was the allure and captivation of sweet, sweet temptation. Ciel cannot and absolutely would not live his life without the three C's. ( A.K.A, cakes and cookies and candy, everything dear that matters to the Earl) Plus, prison cells for the elite weren't too shabby either. If he bested on good behavior, mustering the best of his ability to conjure up such traits that ill-suited the Earl such as himself, he can have a bed and blankets and books in his cell and make it quite cozy for day to day living. Butlers were also permitted, much to Sebastian's dismay. Not too bad for prison life.

"Why not moderation or self-restraint? The human heart can endure even the most gruesome tasks."

Ciel huffed, humorously. Self-restraint was a nice way of putting things for the poor who only dream of tantalizing luxuries, but have the inability to grasp it. When given the chance, humans will do anything to overcome the dread in their lives that seeps through their skin like hot tar. They forsake everything they hold dear, friends, family, and pride all for that one slither of hope dangling in front of their face. He should know better than anybody else. "You truly believe the heart can endure?"

"Yes, I do. One just needs to have faith."

"Or a bit of magic."

Elsie smiled and wonderful smile that that made Ciel want to bottle up in a jar. Or have on a painting. He told himself to look away, but he couldn't. "If one will allow themselves to do. Anything is possible if they let allow their hearts to be open to it."

Ciel's cane tapped against the dirt pathway leading towards the vehicle, Elsie followed. "I do believe the heart is capable of many things, but faith…" Ciel stood in front of the contraption, opening its door. "I wouldn't like the Queen to hear me lie again. What do you say Elsie? Let's see what lies beyond these boring and mundane walls."

"And where would we be going?" Elsie procured with a questioning look. "There are many promising twists and turns and forks in the road that only prove to be deceiving. I shan't want to travel down one of those."

"Elsie," Ciel murmured as he tossed his camera into the back seat. Turning on the headlights of the car. They were shined spotless by a dutiful gardener, but the lights were dulled by the sunlight of the day. "I didn't take you for the unimaginative type."

Unimaginative? Elsie? No. Ciel was saying this to the girl who tied ribbons around the posts of her bed and placed wild flowers all around the cushions and sheets pretending it was the Fairy Queen's almighty castle when she was a little girl. Her mother scorned her was leaving a trail of weeds and dirt and petals through the kitchen and up the stairs.

Elsie rounded the front of the car, feeling the smooth, metallic hood underneath her fingertips. It was warm to the touch as she pulled her hand away gently. "I beg to differ, I thought the same of you. And I have quite the imagination. Thank you very much."

"Me? Now, you're calling me unimaginative?"

"Yes." Elsie said, bluntly.

"I design toys for a living. That takes up a lot of imagination."

Elsie tilted her head from one side to the other. "Yes, but some of the newest release of toys were, how would I say, flat."

"How so? Explain."

"You're customer service now?"

"As it would seem. Yes. Apparently, my company is in jeopardy. I must change my ways, so go on, tell me your ailment."

"Well, the children in Cottingley have taken up an interest in fairy dolls, I can't say for the rest of England."

Ciel tapped his thumb against the steering wheel, thinking. As it pained him, he decided that he must appeal to a wider audience. Including the country kids. "I will consult my cabinet and hear what they have to say. No doubt they will agree with you. Come, I know the perfect place to peak the imagination."

Elsie looked back at the manor and saw her family strolling through the garden. Then Frances trampling over the grass, chasing a butterfly. They looked busy and wouldn't know or mind her absence.

And so, Ciel and Elsie excused themselves from the manor through the back of the garden, unnoticed.

Unnoticed as they were to the gardener and maid and head chef and guests. One individual did notice their absence.

Sebastian excused himself, politely, and placed Tanaka in charge of seeing to the guests' needs.

After all, Sebastian Michaelis, head butler of the Phantomhive family couldn't let the queen's royal dog roam the streets of London without his leash. Who knows what havoc would arise if he let such a disaster walk free from the gates.

Aside from overseeing Ciel, there was another task assigned to him by the young master of the house. As butler of the Phantomhive Family, Sebastian went to work. Without complaint.

* * *

It was against Elsie's better judgement.

She knew better. From all the rumors and dark stories told to her by her school friends whispering in between the aisles when the teacher wasn't looking.

It was against her better judgement, yet she took one step past traitor's gate (dubbed by the visitors) and entered the dreaded, the eerie, the most fearsome place in all of Great Britain. This was no place to spark the imagination. It was The Tower of London.

Immediately, when she stepped one foot in, she was handed a balloon in the shape of a giraffe. Most unexpected.

All around her, she did not see filthy torture chambers or vile criminals wrapped in chains or the hunchback ghost of Richard the III, who supposedly murdered his nephews, hovering above the tower. Instead, Elsie saw parents and children laughing with balloons in their hands. Vendors selling roasted pecans and kettle corn around every corner with smiles on their faces. Animals of all kinds, such as penguins and kangaroos and lions, put on display for visitors to admire. This was not the evil Tower of London she has heard extensive and frightening tales about. She looked towards Ciel who exchanged coins and bought a bag of kettle corn from a vendor. He unwrapped the bag with the red ribbon dangling from the paper bag and plopped one piece of the caramel treat in his mouth. Then he offered some towards Elsie, nonchalantly. Being the gentleman that he is.

Elsie simply shrugged her shoulders. This was a lot to take in. The Tower of London has practically turned into a cheerful petting zoo.

Ciel swallowed, already reaching for another piece. "Did the tower not meet your expectations?"

They passed a group of children huddled near a caged pen. They were giggling happily when they saw the honey colored tiger pounce throughout its pen. They cheered when it rolled over and licked its paws. Finally yawning peacefully under the shade of an oak tree.

"Far from it," Elsie said. "I wasn't even expecting any of this. I thought the Tower of London was a prison, but instead it's a zoo." Elsie was also expecting to hear screams and cries within the stone walls, but all she heard was laughter and cheers. Which wasn't a bad thing. It was nice surprise.

"It still is," Ciel stated, bluntly. "The Tower of London has stood as the symbol of power throughout England for centuries. It was made to send our enemies running away with their tails between their legs back home, so they know who they were going up against, if they even dared to. See those structures up there, piercing into into the sky. Kings, Queens, nobles and criminals have all stayed in these towers as guests and prisoners. Recently, with the abundance of animals sent to Queen Victoria as gifts, she has allowed the outer grounds to be converted into a public venue and made for visitors. For leisurely purposes. She wants her citizens to enjoy the marvels of the tower which was, for a long time, kept from them."

Elsie looked to her right and saw a barbary lion behind a large, metal cage. It opened its jaws, revealing a wide set of white teeth as sharp of knives. Or Ciel's gaze. "The Queen turned the most feard tower in all of London into a petting zoo."

"Just a zoo," Ciel walked near the lion's cage with a sign plastered to the side of it with big, bold letters. It was heavily gesturing not to stick one's fingers within the cage. Heaven knows they don't need another guest losing a finger, or a hand, or arm, or any other vitals. Or life. "One may pet the occupants of the cage, but that would be ill-advised."

Elsie tucked her hands safely behind her back. Not that she was going to pet any the animals anyway. It wasn't just large and furry animals like lions that made her uncomfortable, even her neighbor's toy poodle sent shivers down her spine. The beady look in its eyes was enough to even make a naval officer retreat to his ship. Although, the penguins looked cute with their black flippers and orange beaks. "I once heard that the crown jewels were almost stolen from the tower a long time ago. Is that true?"

"Yes, I believe it was under Charles II reign. Colonel Thomas Blood concocted a dastardly plot in an attempt to steal the crown jewels. The plan would have worked if he was able to adequately subdue the master of the jewels."

"By subdue you mean?"

"Hit him on the head with a mallet."

Elsie nodded, "That would do it."

"Anyway, Blood was pardoned from his crime by the King. He was even awarded an estate in Ireland."

"For attempting to steal the crown jewels? That's mad."

"Not to King Charles II, apparently. When Charles proclaimed the jewels were worth ten thousand pounds, Blood offered to pay six thousand pounds. He was lucky to leave a rich man, considering the King loved a good joke."

 _The royals are bonkers. God save the Queen_. Elsie thought. Then she spoke, "Why venture here of all places?"

Ciel wrapped up the bag of kettle corn and licked the small traces of caramel off his fingers. Then he eyed the stand across from where they were. The stand was full of toys and candies, specifically Phuntom toys and candies. He smiled as another one of his lion stuffed toys, with a signature top hat and eyepatch, was bought by a young lad. The owner had to put a sign in front of the empty space where there used to be a plethora of lion toys; causing an eruption of whines and cries from the litter children yet to buy them. They were officially sold out. That meant more orders must be placed for a shipment of goods.

Nothing could make the Earl happier.

He spoke, with a voice stronger than a lion's roar but soft as the wind. "I think it serves as a reminder. To not overstep boundaries and become comfortable in one's standing. As we entered through the main gates, we arrived as guests. Cordially welcomed with all the pompous of it. Then there are others who are scorned and laughed at. The prisoners and convicts and cheats of the world. We enter through the same gates."

"What's to say who's who through the gates."

"Exactly. Today we are guests, but tomorrow we can be prisoner's. Our status is not set in stone. It's written in dust and can change any day. Will we be in the Queen's favor today, tomorrow, or the day after. Who knows."

"Then you must always be in the Queen's favor. Is that how you feel, Earl?"

"Of course, don't be swayed by my pride and pompous. Like every citizen of Britain, I live to serve the Queen. If the wind changes course and I am not in her favor, I may be swiftly tucked away in the dark corners of this tower. Escorted personally by the Scotland Yard." Lord Arthur Randall, police commissioner of the Scotland Yard, would certainly get a kick out of that. Seeing a wretched dog finally be caged for being naughty.

"Without cake, I presume."

"Definitely without cake." Ciel indulged with Elsie. "Those thoughts aside, I also wanted to show you where your precious fairies will take up occupancy. Hopefully, they won't be placed next to the barbary lions. We don't want to confuse your precious creatures as their afternoon snack."

Elsie felt the air shift uneasily. It almost felt like he purposely brought her here to show her where she would be taking up occupancy, if convicted as a lair and cheat of the world. She will be known as the girl who deceived her Majesty. The Queen will have her locked away in the tower. Without cake. "I cannot allow that."

"I know," Ciel nodded. "I doubt fairies make decent sized treats."

"What I mean to say, is that I cannot let the Cottingley Fairies take up residence here."

"Miss Elsie, you have garnered the Queen's attention. From my standpoint, it would be ill-advised to disappoint her Majesty."

"But," Elsie stammered, "it would be cruelling to the fairies to take them away from their home."

"Did you know the Queen has taken up the hobby of reading tabloids. Yes, she degraded herself to such a thing, to glimpse and awe at all the hand me down pictures of your so-called fairies. It brings not just the entirety of England, but it too brings her boundless joy to believe in magic again."

"I'm flattered by her Majesty's grace, but I think-"

"Then don't refuse." Ciel's voice trailed off, as soft as dandelion petals. "Elsie, if not for her majesty. Will you bring one fairy for my sake. You see, the Queen is like a grandmother to me and I wish for her happiness. If not, it would bring me more pain than her to deny her of such an extraordinary gift. Unless, you find that you are unable to aid her Majesty in this simple request."

Elsie folded her hands over her lap as her eyes traveled across the sky, searching for answers that weren't there. A cloud passed revealing blue sky behind it. She looked back at Ciel, his features were soft and well defined, yet menacing all the same. "I'll see what I can do."

His smile was a brilliant as the sun, "Thank you Elsie."

Elsie felt the insides of her hands. They were clammy. And she felt that if she was about to speak her voice would quiver. In a panicked state, she mustered a smile and quick curtsy. "Excuse me." She went off to find a restroom. Surely, there was at least one renovated bathroom that used to be a dungeon somewhere.

As soon as Elie's silhouette disappeared within the crowd, Ciel looked over his shoulder and scowled. "I know it's where your kind frolics, but I order you to quit loitering in the shadows."

As ordered, Sebastian emerged from the dark shadows of the tower. On his shoulder was a raven. They were not as believed as cats, but he did find some allure in them. Their feathers are slick and look to be well-polished. Even their talons are thoroughly sharpened. It was too bad their wings are clipped. Forbidding the birds to leave the towers.

Sebastian spoke, "I heard from one of the tour guides that six ravens must stay within the property or else the tower will collapse and ruin. I have seen strand things in my existence, but this is far the most peculiar. Is it true?" He petted the raven's beak as it titled its head towards the demon.

"Only the delusional believe superstition." It was also Charles II whom made that ridiculous law. Six ravens must protect The Tower of London or it will crumble to dust. The tower was more likely to crumble from the erosion and wearing down of the stones, not from some birds.

Sebastian smirked, "and you dare to believe you are above them? How complacent of you, master."

"You're right," Ciel narrowed his eyes. "Deep down I am no better than these delusionists and charlatans. We all play the same game in life."

"Some play better than others."

"And that is why I am no ordinary charlatan." Ciel mused, "Tell me, what are your findings. Or have you've been observing the lions all day."

On the contrary, Sebastian had time to acquire all the information Ciel wanted and see the lions. (He mostly saw the lions though) What majestic, feline creatures they are. He'd take one home with him if he could, but a lion wouldn't fit in his coat like a regular alley cat would. He'd wouldn't even make it past the front gate unnoticed. Anyway, the raven flew away as Sebastian pulled a piece of paper from his coat. It was a single pair of cut out paper, in the shape of wings.

Ciel walked over to Sebastian and twirled the paper wing in-between his fingers. He smiled, menacingly. "It seems as if Elsie has been garnering secrets from us."

"Indeed, she has."

"The little con artist." Ciel laughed only once, as bitterness overwhelmed his mouth.

Ciel shifted the weight on his cane. Could he make her confess the truth now? Make her reveal all her lies that captivated all of England with her fabrication of mythical fairies. No, Queen Victoria demanded he bring her a fairy. And he was going to give it to her or have Elsie beg on her knees in the palace. Begging for forgiveness. Undignified and crying with snot dribbling from her nose. The country girl that she is.

He looked again towards the stand selling Phuntom toys. There was a stack of duck plushies in striped suits and hats, but children were skipping towards the stand next to it. One that was selling fairy themed dolls. Ciel grimaced as a child picked a red-haired doll with silver wings, wearing a flower dress rather than his stuffed duck toy.

How could he forgive the girl who stole the front page from him? The girl stealing his business with all this fairy mumbo-jumbo.

"I await your orders, but I am afraid that we will not be able to give her Majesty the fairy she expects from us."

"No," Ciel murmured. "Her demands are not optional. They are followed swiftly and without complaint."

"There is no one else such as yourself who is better suited as her watch dog."

"Here," Ciel tossed his bag of kettle corn at the butler, who caught with ease. Ciel will be saving his caramel snacks for later. "You'll be driving when Elsie returns."

"Yes, my lord." Sebastian bowed.

But Sebastian did wonder how far the girl will go with the act. Humans always did have the capacity to endlessly strew tall-tales. To the point of drowning themselves in all their fabricated lies. Claiming to be honest and sincere until their last breath. No matter, he thought, that was something all humans do.

Truth becomes lies, and lies become truth.

Sebastian has lived long enough to know that.

After all, a butler knows best.

* * *

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 **Elsie has a hidden secret and Ciel is hot on the case. What do you think will happen? Do you think Elsie is telling the truth about the fairies or are you skeptical like Ciel?** **Tell me what you thought in the reviews!**

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	4. Iron Scissors Clip Fairy Wings

**Chapter 4: Iron Scissors Clip Fairy Wings**

 _It was then he held the fairy in the palm of his hand._

 _It lay there, huddled and scared and quivered._

 _For it was far from home,_

 _And away from its friends._

 _He smiled kindly and the fairy was no longer scared._

 _It began to open its wings and look up at the man._

 _Its wings glowed like the moonshine from the stars above,_

 _The man smiled even more._

 _Suddenly, the fairy realized its imminent danger._

 _The man cut off its wings with iron scissors,_

 _Ground the wings into fairy dust,_

 _Sold them for a hefty price,_

 _And threw the fairy in a cage._

 _It stayed in there for all time._

 _Alone and Weeping._

 _Iron Scissors and Iron bars,_

 _keep a fairy where it belongs._

 _Alone and Weeping._

* * *

 _Elise watched over her younger sister Frances as she laid, huddled in her bed. Frances was wrapped in her blanket and near the hearth, but she was still cold. Shivering. Teeth chattering. Skin as white as the gray moon, yet her eyes sparkled that of spring. Of tulips and roses and hydrangeas basking beneath the sun in a bed of soft soil. Content on looking beautiful. Spreading their roots and fanning their leaves. Shyly. Bashfully. Frances was even wearing a toy crown on her head that depicted these floral creatures of the sunlight world. She coughed once, then twice. Then she held a hand to her chest and grasped tightly as her breath was consumed by a ferocious beast of a cough._

 _It is a sad, but true fact that the prettiest of flowers are always the first to be picked with iron scissors._

 _The night drew painfully on when the young girl could not get any sleep, coughing endlessly. So, little Frances asked to be read a story, to ease her weak spirit._

 _Elsie happily complied and read her an adventurous story of mermaids, pirates, chivalrous and mysterious masked heroes, and Frances's favorite, fairies. Elsie spoke with a lively and chipper voice in the candlelight room, 'and the two fairies danced in the hollow grove of an old oak tree, together. Their wings sparkled as they caught the magic of the silver moonshine that lies in the stars above. Time stood still for them as they danced, and danced, and danced.'_

" _Elsie," Frances whispered softly. "Are fairies real? A boy at school told me they aren't and called me stupid because of it."_

 _Elsie straightened her back, closed her book and looked through the window and above to the moon for a brief moment, "he's the stupid one for not believing. Fairies are very much real."_

 _Frances smiled from ear to ear as she pulled her blanket closer to her face, "I knew it."_

" _Fairies are shy creatures and don't like to be seen unless they want to."_

" _But why Elsie?" Frances asked, innocently. "Why don't fairies show themselves to everyone when they are responsible for so much? People would thank them more if they could see them." According to little young Frances's mind, fairies are responsible for pretty much everything that happens in the country of England. They are responsible for glistening dew in the morning. They are the ones that collect the rays of sunlight in jars and arrange them into rainbows on summer afternoons. And sometimes fairies even keep the house clean, granted if a delectable sweet or two are left at the windowsill for them. Fairies, according to Frances, are the greatest magic to come out of England._

 _But it is a pity that even she, a believer, fairy enthusiastic, lover of magic, cannot seem them. Even now on the windowsill, there lays an almond cookie on a little doll's plate and a little cup of milk, the cup was the perfect size for a little mouth to drink. And there was even a napkin, folded neatly in to a triangle, because Frances knew that eating milk and cookies can get very messy. She was very considerate for any fairy guests to pass by her windowsill._

" _Well, imagine if all the leprechauns became known to everyone. Suddenly, people would stop going to town to get their shoes mended and repaired, instead swarms of people with holes in their heels would travel to the forests and meadows to have the leprechauns repair their shoes for them! The shoe-smiths of London would go out of business!"_

" _Gosh," Frances said. "Leprechauns sure are considerate." This is when Frances thought it would be a good idea to leave out an extra cookie for a wandering, shoe repairing leprechaun as well._

" _Not to mention the price of repairing a single shoe would cost as much as a pot of gold. That's a hefty price for anyone to pay just for the repair of one, let alone two shoes. People would be trading off their horses and chickens and farms just to barely scrape off a quarter of the deal."_

 _Frances's jaw dropped. This was the moment when our dear young Frances learned that Leprechauns must be very skilled at what they do and that if they were ever looking for an apprentice, she didn't mind volunteering._

 _Elsie added with a wink, "that's why leprechauns don't show themselves to humans, London business would be flat as stale bread. They much rather occupy themselves with gnomes who live down, deep below in the ruby and diamond mines of England. They pay twice the pay expected of them and they even generously tip the leprechaun if the job was exceedingly well done."_

 _Frances nodded wholeheartedly to the knowledge currently being passed down to her from the master herself, Elsie. How clever was Elsie for knowing all this information that not even those snobby, old professors in the universities know. Frances nodded to herself, adamantly. She was determined when it was her time to go to university, she was going to teach all that she new about fairies and leprechauns and gnomes! Then she her eyes opened then narrowed at Elsie, mischievously. "But that doesn't answer why fairies stay hidden."_

" _Ahh yes," Frances slowly dimmed the light of the kerosene lamp. She tucked little Frances in and gave her a goodnight kiss then whispered. "It's a thousand times more fun to keep a secret than it let it be known."_

 _Frances yawned and closed her eyes and began to dream of spritely fairies and very, very rich gnomes. "I'll keep their secret with them if they would allow. I would love to see a fairy."_

 _Then she fell asleep, dreaming of a sweet, sweet wonderland._

 _Elsie, minding her steps of the staircase, made it down to the kitchen with her father and mother at the table. Elsie began cleaning out and washing Frances's empty mug of tea and began to wash the pink stained rags used in her coughing fit today. Elsie scrubbed viciously as she listened to her parents talking at the table._

 _They didn't seem happy. Which was no different from any other night._

" _Oh, what will we do Gabriel? It pains me to see Frances in such a state, she is so young. What will we do?" Anna, Elsie's mother, said with red brimmed eyes. She dabbed her nose with a tissue and opened her mouth to speak, but only a soft cry of pain came out._

 _Gabriel put an arm around his wife's shoulder, tenderly. "Don't worry love, the doctors said…"_

" _The doctors. The doctors. The doctors! What did the doctors say or do that dared not alter the course that surrounded our poor Jacob! God rest his soul, but it is happening all over again. I won't lose anymore of my children Gabriel. I won't let happen. I certainly won't. I'll beat death with my frying pan, until it becomes submissive and leaves my youngest daughter alone."_

 _Gabriel spoke, "there will be no need for the frying pan dear. The new medicine prescribed by the doctors is said to be the best modern medicine of the era. It was even aided to help improve Her Majesty the Queen when she had a cold."_

" _But our Frances doesn't have a cold Gabriel! And neither did Jacob!" Anna flew her hands in the air and stood up, frantically. She walked into the dining room and sat down in her favorite chair, one in which she used to cradle Jacob before he passed away when he was four years old. He was Elsie's older brother and it pains her heart that she only remembers a fraction of him, while her mother remembers every moment he opened his eyes and breathed. Every smile that drew upon his face and every laugh that passed through his lips._

 _Gabriel hunched over his seat and rubbed a hand over his eyes, tired. And silently cried._

 _Elsie placed a hand on her father's. For a moment, he was not there. His spirt was somewhere else. Then he finally looked up at her, and kissed her hand. Then back his spirit went, only thinking of gloom and doom for the fate that awaits his youngest child. A fate that he lacks the power to change._

 _Elsie continued to scrub the rags until her fingers felt cold and numb from the water. She saw her reflection in the pink-tinted water. Her gaze drifted upward when she heard another cough, another aching hack that sent her mother hastily trotting up the staircase. Elsie looked back down towards the soapy water, caught within the individual ripples augmenting her image. Her mind hanging unto Frances's last words before she fell asleep._

' _I would love to see a fairy.'_

* * *

There was a young master in a young household who was doing a very arduous task at this beautiful hour that usually refrained from any sorts of arduous labor. He was thinking. And he was thinking very hard.

More than he has ever done, since he returned from the Tower of London with that pesky girl by his side, Elsie.

Ciel leaned back in his chair and stared at the pair of silvery, fairy wings in his hand. He twirled the cut-out paper back and forth, catching all the minuscule details drawn within in. The curvatures, the subtlety of the colors, the delicacy of the lines. Then he thought of the girl who owned them. He grinned a mischievous smile and instantly knew what she was and her agenda.

Ciel shook his head slightly and relinquished the ridiculous thought from his head. He recalled on the day he observed the lions and tigers with Elsie, they talked of rather silly things. They talked of a colonel stealing the crown jewels from the Tower of London, crimes and repercussions of sweets of all kinds, and then she called him unimaginative!

Ciel laughed to himself.

He laughed to himself! How dare he laugh to what that girl said! This is the girl who has all the papers mindlessly shouting fairies with stupidly high voices. This is the girl who kept stealing the front page spread from him, from his toy company, from his latest and most brilliant creations. This is the girl who made him smile a genuine smile that he thought he was no longer able of committing.

Ciel's thumb caressed the surface of the wing, and for a brief moment he wished it was Elsie's hand.

A knock was heard on the door.

Ciel quickly stuffed the paper wing cut out into a drawer and calmly called for Sebastian to enter.

And Sebastian did, with a tray of piping hot scones with a side of jams of all sorts, to strawberry conserve to stewed grapes to sugared blueberries with chamomile tea on the side. Sebastian dared not enter Ciel's office without such offerings and Ciel expected Sebastian to always carry them with him when he entered.

Sebastian cut open a scone and began to spread the jam, angelically as butler of his caliber can master. Spreading cream and jam never looked more like an art form than in Sebastian's hands. The art of creating the most delectable of desserts was one of Sebastian's many skills that Ciel particularly took notice of, and his only skill that Ciel properly complimented. As Sebastian began to steep the tea, he noticed an unusual read on the head of the household's desk. He quirked up an eyebrow, which was an unusual gesture even for a butler. "Do the morning paper's no longer peak your interest anymore, sir?"

"Nonsense," Ciel said as he held open the newest issue of 'magic monthly magazine.' Today's main topic of interest was 'fairies and where to find them.' There was even a picture of man dressed in mountain gear navigating the peaceful clay meadows in search of fairies. He was also carrying a fairly large net. Ciel scoffed. He is amazed how some people sink to new lows. "The sales of these types of articles have become popular within majority of the public's eye recently. It is advantageous for Phuntom Corporation to be ahead of the times and realize any arising competition."

A small toy company named 'Woodland Classics' has recently rose in popularity. They specialize in painted wooden dolls with frilly dresses and it is no surprise that their top selling toy are their prized fairy dolls. They have been dominating the market and flying off every shelf in London. Ciel flicked the creases in this magazine, slightly agitated.

"Competition has already risen for some time, young master." Sebastian said with a rude, but true smile.

"Yes, I know." Ciel growled. "But it would have been an unwise decision to mindlessly take part in a band wagon just because a topic of interest momentarily becomes popular. If the subject were to turn sour within the public's eye in the next moment, my company would sink along with it. I care too much for Phumtom's reputation than to follow fads."

Sebastian bowed with one hand over his heart, "I, too, care for Phuntom's everlasting success. Excuse my impudence."

"No, for you are also right. That is how majority of toy companies and others stay in business. It is a cheap, but most certainly not an outdated, prehistoric tactic. It is impossible to pick the new and favorite toy of the era. The people's favorite. The crowd pleaser. The show-stopper. The money maker. For some companies, following a band wagon is what they depend on for survival. No one knows the next big toy that will impact the market, not even me. I can have hunches, and guesses, but it's always a gamble at best." Ciel offered a single glance at his butler, then no more.

Sebastian humored this notion of humans. How fickle they are and where their interests lie in one moment than quickly in another. Ciel saw the demon's grin, full of teeth. "Are you to tell me that Phuntom's success throughout England, which is now spreading to all corners of the commonwealth, is entirely a gamble? If it were a gamble, then it seems that it is possible to turn any beggar man into an aristocrat."

"I'd wager 12 pence that it could not be done."

"I dare not take you as a wagering man, but why?"

Ciel bit into a scone smothered with jam as it tingled sweetly in his mouth. "Simpler said than done. New Money empty their pocketbooks at parties and spend merrily, while Old Money empty their pocketbooks at banks and spend cautiously."

"You are very humble young master."

"I am not humble. I am simply an old scrooge, weary of shaky business investments."

"But it is no exaggeration for me to say that your toys are very popular with the children all over the commonwealth. Even Queen Victoria's grandchildren are regular customers of Phuntom. To say you do not harbor a secret to success, is to say there is nothing miraculous of moonlight nights. Surely your rivals think you do."

"Well," Ciel said, "I make the toys I would have wanted to play with when I was a boy, but no one is rarely ever satisfied with that kind of answer. Harboring a secret, even when there isn't one, always keeps my rivals on their toes. Anxious and Afraid of being overthrown."

"Just how you like them."

Ciel smiled complacently as he finished his scone.

Sebastian mused to himself that humans can be just as terrifying as demons. He knows, since he works for one. A very bratty one. "Is the business of fairies shaky?"

Ciel opened the drawer and took out two important pairs of objects, the paper fairy wings collected by Sebastian and a pair of iron scissors. Ciel spoke in a sharp tongue with a sinister edge. "I just read in the _magic monthly magazine_ that if a fairy's wings are clipped off they'll grow back in a split second, but if a fairy's wings are clipped with iron scissors then they'll stay that way for all time."

"Then there would be nothing special about a sad little creature locked up in a cage. Wings give it charm. They give an enchantment that entices the people."

"Yes, but remove the real wings and prevent the sad, little creature from ever flying away. From ever escaping. Slap on a pair like these, you have yourself the show-stopper of the era."

"Humans can be so cruel," Sebastian said, almost with a laugh.

"We only think of it as cruel, when we scornfully look to the first ones to do it. The first ones to produce the show-stopper. We call them cruel because we weren't the ones to first reap its success. Cruelty and jealously go hand in hand." Ciel looked at the paper wings then up again, "you collected these from whom again?"

"A boy named Tommy Hopkins, a friend to our dear Miss Elsie."

Ciel leaned back in his chair and smiled to himself. He can unveil the truth soon enough to the papers and finally stop all his fairy nonsense. He just needed a little more, legitimate proof, enough to send her and her family packing their belongings away from London.

Then, Ciel mused, he will clip the wings that brought her up so high and mighty in the public's eye with iron scissors.

And send her falling in disgrace for all of London to bear witness.

* * *

It was in the Cottingley Meadows where Elsie resides. The flowers flittered in the warm breeze as she gently passed her hands between them. Debris of golden pollen clung to her finger tips. She mused to herself that she was a bee, far away from the drama and complications of the big city of London. She was but a humble bee, busy collecting honey for the Queen.

No, even as a bee, she was still serving the queen. A Queen she will eventually disappoint.

It is Cottingley Meadows where Elsie resides to calm herself. To retrace her thoughts. To think of silly and idle and humorous thoughts.

And to commit to the same act she's been doing for months now. Elsie flew back her head and rested on the bed of grass beneath her. A bee flew and buzzed above, briefly mistaking her for a flower.

She tossed and turned and worried to herself. What will the Queen think when she finds out the truth? What will she do to Elsie when she finds out? Elsie sprang up immediately and held both sides of her head. What punishment will the Queen personally put on her!?

A branch snapped. A bush shuddered.

Elsie turned her head, fearing the worse. The Queen has read her mind and was here incognito in Cottingley to exact revenge for Elsie's deceitfulness.

In response, Elsie did the only thing her body could do. She picked up a big stick and prepared herself.

Suddenly to appear from behind the bush. It was not the elderly Queen, but a young boy with blonde hair and countless freckles covering his face from spending all day in the sun. He carried with him a suitcase and a smile. A smile bigger than Elsie's stick.

"Good afternoon, Elsie!" Then he looked at her stick, "are you going to be playing croque or something? If you are, you're not playing it right."

"Tommy!" Elsie yelled, "Don't scare me like that okay! I thought you were the Queen!"

Tommy laughed, "and what would the Queen be doing here in Cottingley? The outdoors isn't meant for her big, old breeches anyway."

Elsie gasped. No one talked that way about the Queen. Or about her breeches! "Don't say that Tommy."

"Or what? Will the Scotland yard come out and arrest me because of it? This is free speech and I am entitled to my own opinions." He shrugged.

"Yes, but as long as it doesn't condescend our ruling sovereign that governs our day to day lives."

Just then, Tommy took in one deep, deep breath. Then he bellowed a powerful wave that he lungs could muster up. The trees shook, and their branches quivered from his immense storm. "I THINK THE QUEEN'S BREECHES ARE HUUUUUUUUGE!"

Silence over swept afterwards as Tommy quickly drew in many breaths. This could have been the last time for Elsie to see her dear friend Tommy, before he was possible apprehended by the yard.

"Do you think the yard is behind this bush ready to pulverize me?" Tommy said.

Elsie shrugged, "and if they are, I sadly cannot help your case."

Together they peered behind the frightening bush and witnessed an even more frightening creature. It was a toad with scales and warts and moldy green skin.

"He does look like he's from the yard," Tommy humored.

"Yes, and he looks really angry too. He looks like he may jump at you any minute. Tell her majesty I said hello."

"I think I'll tell her majesty about her breeches, someone has too."

Just then, the frog jumped forward and gave Tommy a frightful jump and Elsie a good laugh.

"It doesn't think so!" Elsie laughed, holding her hands over her stomach. Tommy, utterly humiliated in the peak of his boyhood, tossed the frog into the near by river. It swam off happily.

Apparently, the security about Queen Victoria's breeches was a very, very tight issue. Tommy laughed to himself. Just then, the sun caught the perfect angle behind Elsie's head, creating a halo fit for an angel. He opened up the suitcase and took out his camera.

And snapped the photo of a real-life angel. To him, anyway.

"Tommy, don't waste footage. We have a lot to do today and the papers need another picture for the front page. Apparently, they want at least twice the number of fairies in this one than the last." Elsie said, worryingly.

"Don't worry, Elsie. I'll give you another show-stopper." He said with a wink. Together, they leaned over the opened suitcase and all their tools and possibilities laid out in front of them. There are stacks of fairy cut outs from coloring books, bundled stencils of fairy wings in varying shapes and patterns, pins and needles to hold up the cut outs to make them stand even and still when taking a picture. All the tools in their small suitcase, implemented and planned together, fooled all of London.

"I know I can't keep these at my home or else Frances will spot them. She's has an eye for finding things meant to stay hidden. What about you? You haven't let anybody seen these right?"

"Pssh!" Tommy gestured. "Have a little more faith in me Elsie. I never let the case out of my sight. It's as safe with me as money is with a bank."

"That's makes me worry," Elsie sighed.

The first picture they took was at the river. Elsie lifted up her dress and revealed her ankles as she wet her feet in the cool water. Tommy pinned several cut outs of dancing fairies next to the rocky shore to make it look as if they were joining Elsie in the water. Splashing, playing, and enjoying the summer sun.

The second picture they took was beneath the shade of an old oak tree. Tommy pinned several fairies to the bark, ones that looked mischievous and tricky. They leaned into Elsie's ear, as if telling her their deepest secrets they could only trust her with. And in return, Elsie offered a listening ear and gave a surprised, but euphoric look. She was just as mysterious and just as cunning as they were. A solid oath between them both, that no secrets were ever leaving from the shade of the old oak tree.

The third picture they took was next to a fallen log. Elsie nestled comfortably towards it. Resting her hands and arms in its embrace. She looked to her right and a fairy laid down on the log facing Elsie. It looked up at her, marveling in her human companion. There were many resting fairies pinned to the log, Tommy positioned them just right. Suddenly a gust of wind escaped through the meadows and over swept the fairies from their places. Sending the paper figurines flying.

Tommy and Elsie, pinned them down again with a little more force. The wind continued to roll through the trees and even through Elsie's hair. She kept trying to keep it in place for a decent picture. There were even a few leaves too, courtesy of the wind.

"Let me," Tommy put down his camera and walked towards Elsie. He stood in front of her and gently picked each leaf out from her hair then another. Bit by bit. Once there was a time, when Elsie and Tommy were the same height, but it seems that she can only reach his collar bone now for he has grown quite a bit. She looked up, and saw a light stubble on his chin, like that of her father when he doesn't shave in the morning. Then he caught her gaze and she looked away.

"Almost done?" She said, with a blush on her face she could not help controlling.

"Just a few more."

She knew Tommy Hopkins for a very long time. They were childhood friends, because his father would deliver milk to all the households in the village and his since mother was friends with her mother. It would only be natural due to inevitable play dates through maternal figures that they would end up becoming familiar with each other.

They finally became friends when Elsie dared Tommy to jump over a mud puddle, but when Tommy fell in and Elsie was the only one laughing; He pulled her in and then they laughed at each other's muddy faces together. Their friendship blossomed afterwards.

Now, he was helping her commit London's number one crime: Fairy Fraud.

Elsie was about to thank him for all that he's done to help her, but he unfortunately spoke first. "What does Frances think of the photos?"

"She absolutely adores them." Elsie smiled. She was doing all this for Frances. To see that smile on her face, to give her what she always wanted to see, fairies. Elsie could care less about the newspapers in London, the Queen, her people, her watchdog….Ciel. She thought of Ciel Phantomhive with a fluttering feeling in her heart. Or a painful ache. No doubt he suspects what's going on in Cottingley meadows. She is positive he can see through a little camera flash and glamor. Elsie could even bet that he was going to expose her for all the lies she spun to the media when he finds out.

"I'm happy to hear that."

She sighed and remembered how she got herself into this deep, deep, deep mess.

The first photo she took was the day after Frances had another coughing episode and the doctor's said there was nothing more they could do. All they could do was through her a bottle of medicine and preach its wonders. All those wonders made Frances convulse in her sleep. So instead of seeing her darling little sister suffer, she grabbed her father's camera, paper and scissors and stencils hidden in her basket, and went out to Cottingley to _supposedly_ take pictures of birds, but she was going to _accidentally_ find an even more beautiful creature.

She was going to find a fairy and show it to little Frances. And that smile upon Frances's face, the joy radiating within that little girl, was enough to overshadow the constant cloud of death that loomed above her. It was the first time Frances jumped out of bed and towards the window, already looking for fairies from her room which she calls her dreadful tower. Frances was happy. Elsie couldn't ask for anything else than a happy sister.

So, Elsie went back and forth from Cottingley, taking pictures of fairies she would meet on her journey. Always bringing new drawings and stencils and fabric and pins with her, hidden at the bottom of her basket.

It wasn't long before her mother and father became skeptical and began to show the pictures to professionals, asking them if they were indeed real. In the presence of Frances, Elsie said they were authentic, in hopes of keeping the magic alive for her sister. Though, she did not think the pictures would ever leave the confides of the house.

Elsie thought wrong.

They were taken to scientists and investigators and mystical amateurs. Of course, these experts specialized in all things supernatural and otherworldly. When they gazed upon the pictures of Elsie and the fairies, they knew without a doubt, they were one hundred percent authentic. Then they sent the pictures to their colleagues, who sent the pictures to their friends, who then sent them to the printing press that prints the infamous London Gazette newspaper. History was set in stone after that.

It didn't take long when the papers asked Elsie for more pictures of her and the fairies together, she could only trust one person to aid her, and that is her friend Tommy Hopkins. Who is as skilled with a camera as he is mending a horse's shoe.

"Elsie."

Elsie jolted upright from the response. "Yes Tommy?"

"I'm all done, you're perfect." He blushed suddenly. "I mean, your hair is perfect."

"Oh," Elsie blushed. "Thank you." As soon as she got back in position, Tommy grabbed unto her hand. His touch was kind and gentle.

"There's something I need to tell you first."

"Go ahead or wait till after the picture is taken. We need all the light day has to offer—

"Elsie!" Tommy proclaimed as he took hold of both of her hands. Just then, Elsie realized that his hands have gotten bigger than hers too. "Please! Marry me!"

"What?"

"I know I am simply the son of farmers and I know your parents wouldn't want you being a farmer's wife, plowing the fields and breaking your back, but I have studied under a friend of my uncles and in turn earned an apprenticeship under a highly successful business woman in London."

"…Congratulations Tommy. I'm happy for you…"

Tommy shook his head, "No, I couldn't more devastated. I heard that she is very tough and I will be forced to work even longer days and nights than I have done before on the farm, but I am doing all this for you Elsie! So that I may one day become someone suitable to be called a husband!"

Elsie wanted to shy away, but couldn't find her steps, particularly because she was tripping over her long dress. She knew she should have hemmed the bottom beforehand. "It would break my heart for this opportunity to bring you so much discomfort. Don't risk your expense in due to mine."

"I love you Elsie Wright! One day, it would bring me the greatest joy, if you were to accept to becoming Miss Elsie Hopkins."

"But we are too young to even think about marriage."

"I know, but with these words I confess to you my feelings. For I fear another man may steal you away from me one day in the future. You're beautiful Elsie, even a blind man would be able to tell. Your beauty, your kindness, your compassion glows radiantly like the sun. You draw everyone in who comes near." Tommy leaned in closer. "You draw me in more, each and every day."

Elsie leaned further against the tree. Where was this all coming from? This wasn't the Tommy she knew. The Tommy that jokes around with her and laughs when she has a raisin stuck in-between her teeth "…I don't know what to say."

"Say that my feelings are well requited. Say that you will marry me." Then Tommy whispered a voice so softly, it could have been silenced by a humming bird's wings. "say that you love me."

He brought her hands closer to his lips. And for a moment her mind betrayed her, his lips looked soft and gentle and she wanted to feel them against her own. But she didn't. She pulled back her hands and breathed shallow breaths and stepped away from Tommy.

"We're done taking photographs today." She said quickly, stuffing the paper fairies and their pins back into the suitcase. She dared not look at Tommy, this was all going too fast. "Agh!" She winced as she pricked her finger on one of the pins. As she reached for a cloth, she was met with another by Tommy.

He dabbed and wrapped a small piece around her finger and smiled. "I'm sorry, it was selfish of me to surprise you this way. But I've held it in for so long and after hearing about my apprenticeship in the letter this morning, I knew…I knew I couldn't keep it a secret no longer." Tommy kissed her bandaged wound and Elsie could feel the tips of her ears heating up. "You don't need to give me an answer now, but I will be leaving for London soon and I will no longer be here by your side."

"How long will you be gone?"

Tommy looked away, "indefinitely, at the moment."

"Tommy…"

"Or maybe my master will look twice at me when I arrive and send me back with the luggage." He laughed at himself.

"Oh Tommy," Elsie placed a hand on his cheek and she wondered how one summer made him look so mature. "Value yourself more. In your life, you've done so much good for other's than you have done for yourself. You've done so much good for me in these past months that could make up an entire lifetime, I hope this endeavor to London will fulfill in more ways than you can imagine."

"Thank you, Elsie. But please. Think about what I said. I don't expect an answer now, but that would be nice. I'm not going to lie." He rolled his shoulders.

Elsie smacked him on the shoulder and they both erupted in laughter.

And she did promise.

She promised to think about his proposal.

* * *

Elsie was alone in Cottingley, after Tommy left with the suitcase. Elsie held the camera and plates in her basket as she wandered the meadows by herself and thought and thought.

This was the first time she ever thought of Tommy in this sort of way. In this romantic sort of way. He was always a friend, a brother to her. How could she think of him any different now? She wondered what changed inside of Tommy to think of her in this way.

She let out a sigh and swung her basket to and fro. She'll definitely need a new cameraman to help her take the photos, or she should buy one of those camera's that times pictures before they are taken. Yes, that seems like a promising investment, but she will need the extra money. She does have a few shillings hidden beneath her bed. And she could ask her father-

"Oooh! Who are you?!" Elsie demanded as she gawked at a man with cylindrical spectacles over his eyes the size of saucers! They were attached to a funny looking pulley which was attached to his helmet then to his head! He took a magnifying glass and examined the ground. And each blade of grass. He glided his finger over one and observed, cautiously.

"There seems to be slight traces of fairy dust on this blade of grass." The man hypothesized. "I am surely closer to the fairies now."

Just then, another man and woman appeared through the trees. Carrying with them giant hand nets (the size of the Queen's breeches. Shame on Elsie for thinking such a sacrilegious thought. She has no one else but Tommy to blame.)

"I see one!" The woman said. "I see a fairy over in that tree!" Suddenly, a frenzy of nets swished continuously throughout the air. The man, now sampling the fairy dust with his mouth, jumped up from his spot and joined them in their quest.

To their dismay, they only caught a butterfly. But it is common fairy knowledge that when a fairy knows its being hunted, it trades places with a butterfly.

Oh, these humans knew all these silly fairy tricks. And on they continued in search of a fairy!

Elsie maneuvered her way past these odd people and off she went back home, only to find more and more of these odd people on her way.

And to her astonishment, leading these group of people was the boy with the cerulean hair and enticing gaze. He walked confidently with his cane as his butler followed behind him. "I hope you don't mind, but I brought a few friends with me."

"A few?" Elsie questioned. "There is at least fifty people here."

"Yes, fifty of Phantomhive's closest friends."

Sebastian laughed to himself, Ciel gave him the order to find England's most enthusiast and obsessed fairy lovers and invite them on an outing with the Earl of Phantomhive. In actuality, Ciel has never met any of these individuals at all in his life. Nor would he ever under normal circumstances. Sebastian thought it was an impressive skill to make fifty close friends within a time span of fifteen minutes.

"Ciel!" Elsie said, then someone's makeshift fairy wings bumped into her back. Apparently, they wanted to channel their inner fairy.

"Yes, my dear Miss Elsie." Ciel said, smirking deviously.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" He said as Sebastian handed him a net from behind.

Elsie felt the insides of her stomach curdle horribly.

"I'm here to catch a fairy."

* * *

 **Hi! Thank you for much for reading! So! Are you surprised with Elsie's secret? And are you on Team Ciel or Team Tommy LOL I really hope you guys liked reading this chapter , I'd love to hear your thoughts! And don't worry there will be MANY more surprises in the chapters to come!**

 **I have also made a tumblr blog for the story too! The url is 'aroseforelsie' dot tumblr dot com. There are a few posts on there already, but I will post more things likes art for the story, quotes, chapter/story updates, etc.**

 **Thank you for reading and see you next time!**


	5. Ancient Circles and Solitaire Rings

**Character Ages **

**Elsie-16 years old**

 **Ciel-18 years old**

 **Tommy-17 years old**

 **Frances-9 years old**

 **...**

 **Sebastian- probably a few millennia, give or take LOL**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Ancient Circles and Solitaire Rings **

"I'm here to catch a fairy." Ciel said as Sebastian handed him a hand net. Ciel traced his finger along its edges and down it's shaft. Almost flicking off a miniscule piece of golden pollen from Cottingley meadows that desperately clung unto it. He looked up at Elsie and smiled a devilish grin. "I hope you don't mind Miss Elsie, but Her Majesty grows impatient with each passing day that I fail to bring her what she desires. If you would be so kind as to aid me in this difficult quest, as you know from our last endeavors of trying to take pictures of fairies in my own manor did not yield results. They don't see to like me very much."

They most certainly don't, Elsie thought to herself. And neither did she.

"You are lady luck after all. The fairies love you. In all of England, they only show themselves to you. You and only you it seems."

Elsie wanted to wipe that grin off Ciel's face, but instead she turned towards Victorian etiquette in this dire and dreadful situation. If only Victorian etiquette would allow her to swing that net over Ciel's own head and cast him into the river, she most definitely would. But this was England and she was a lady, and casting England's most repugnant and bratty gentlemen into Thames is not what Victorian ladies do, regrettably. That would be something Tommy would do, happily. And she would not falter contrary to Ciel's wishes.

Instead, Elsie curtsied gracefully. She smiled, politely. It was not a sincere smile, but it did not show. Her eyes shined like the rays of the sun. "If it pleases Her Majesty to do so, then I am more than obliged to aid you in your quest." Elsie held the woven basket to her side. The basket containing all her secrets, her fairy cutouts and wind patterns and bobby pins. A basket of secrets that could cost her head. Thank goodness Tommy took the camera and photographs with him.

"Excellent," Ciel removed his coat and handed it to Sebastian, whom folded it neatly and bowed in return, his back as straight as an arrow. Elsie looked at the man, into his gleaming red eyes, and momentarily thought him to be as fickle as the crows that loiter arrange Cottingley's crops.

Sebastian smiled at Elsie, a pleasant and handsome smile that could send all the Queen's court swooning in their breeches.

Elsie also thought he was as deceptive as a cunning fox.

Sebastian, following his master dutifully, was stopped. Ciel raised his hand briefly and told his butler that he would be just fine without his aid.

Ciel walked towards Elsie, bowed slightly, and extended his hand. His sapphire ring shined brilliantly under the Cottingley's light. "Where shall we begin first, my dear?"

Elsie took Ciel's hand and walked with him as they ventured through the wild flowers and tall grass. They ventured under evergreen trees as the light peeked though the cracks between the leaves and touched their skin. The wind blew softly as their shoulders lightly brushed against the other. Elsie felt her cheeks heating up. She had to act fast and think quick. Her eyes gazed to the world around. Where was she going to find a fairy and trick Ciel into believing there is one? Her eyes drifted towards the trees and bushes and vines. Then, they drifted towards Ciel's hand holding her own, and on his thumb laid a ring. A ring that embodied the sorrow of the ocean. A deep sapphire blue.

Ciel caught her gaze and spoke. "Maybe I should have taken off my ring? Although I don't know how tiresome a fairy hunt can be."

"It's quite alright," Elsie muttered. "But I wouldn't want you to lose something valuable if that's the case."

"This ring has never left my side, nor father's and grandfather's. It will most likely never leave mine as well. It has also seen all of its master's demises. Most surely, I will be the next one it sees."

"And you do not mind? Giving into a predestined sort of fate? Forgive me Ciel but that seems unlike you. When opportunity arises, you strike fast."

"You think too highly of me Elsie. But you believe I can change mine?"

"Yes," Elsie smiled, tenderly. "I do. I believe we can all change our fates when given the opportunity, or make well thought out decisions."

"Thank you for your consideration," Ciel shifted, "but the odds are against me."

"How so?"

"Two to one seems rather unfair."

"And that is all?" Elsie mused. "Forgive my lord, but those odds aren't so terrible. They are doable, in fact. It seems you can make a comeback."

Ciel smirked. "Are the odds against you, in any way?"

Elsie lightened her grip from Ciel's hand, "Who doesn't?"

Finally, an idea popped into her mind, and she knew exactly how to execute it. She held out her hand in front of Ciel and gasped, looking down at the ground. Ciel quirked up his eyebrow, curiously. "What is the matter Elsie? Are you alright?"

"We have to turn back," she said. "We mustn't go any further than here."

"And why is that?" Ciel inquired.

Elsie pointed towards the moss ridden ground, towards the red topped mushroom caps. "You see these mushrooms arranged in a circle. This is a fairy ring. This is strictly fairy territory. The fairies have claimed this part of the land as their own and if a mortal were to step inside the circle they themselves would risk the chance of being spirited away by fairies. I wouldn't want to endanger my dearest friend in these dangerous circumstances. Let's turn back, shall we?" Elsie turned around and walked a few steps but was shocked to see that Ciel did not follow. In fact, he stood outside the circle. He folded his hands behind his back and smiled.

"Really? If I step inside this misshapen circle I will never see the cloudy fumes emitted from London's factories, every officer of the yard that desires to tie their hands around my throat, or the greedy and manipulative businessmen counting their coins within their workhouses? Now, that seems like a favor rather than a curse."

"I promise you than that fairies don't have cakes or any kinds of sweets in their realm."

Ciel looked down at the mushroom circle and back at Elsie. A feigned look of shock caressed his face. "Might as well send me to hell."

Elsie stifled a quick laugh. The ends of her lips curling in a decadent smile. "Is that all you ever care about? Cakes and cookies and candy? Isn't there anything deemed more important than those?"

"Elsie," Ciel said, baffled. "Those are the three most important indulgences in life. Heaven knows I'd forsake all riches just to keep those three."

Elsie looked towards the river and laughed to herself.

"And what is so funny that you cannot share it with me?"

"Well," Elise fumbled with her basket, "I'd wager if someone were to pay you in sweets like cookies, you wouldn't refuse the offer."

Ciel adjusted his cufflinks of his suit, "that depends." He said, seriously. "Whether they were offering to pay with chocolate chip or oatmeal." With his response Elsie giggled brightly, which only made Ciel mimic her gesture. He felt a soft and delicate warmth from her radiance and realized momentarily he desired more of it. He quickly shooed the thought away and coughed, once. Ciel stepped away from the mushroom circle and thanked Elsie for saving him from being whisked away to a land of no sweets, and of course his immortal soul. Oh, if only Elsie truly knew.

Elsie guided him towards the ends of Cottingley's small river. Water whisked over the rocks and sand and it's sound enchanted Elsie ever since she was old enough to step within it's cool embrace, holding on to her dear father's hand. Ever since she was a little girl, she adored every aspect of Cottingley. As for Ciel, nature was such a peculiar thing. A dangerous thing. Mainly he survived through it by not being there. Although, with Elsie by his side, he didn't seem to mind. Only a little.

A mosquito flew back and again towards his brow. He waved it away, awkwardly. This was Finnian's sort of work, not Ciel's.

"I happen to meet many of my fairy friends beyond this river, over on the east side. But…" Elsie lamented. "I have seemed to forget my boots, and mother would have a fit if I were to soak my dress if I were to cross the river."

"That is a pity," Ciel said.

"Indeed, it is, Earl. I am afraid our endeavors to find a fairy today have been in vain." Elsie feigned sorrow, magnificently. "Maybe you should come back another day when I have acquired the right footwear—

Just then, the world seemed to turn, and Elsie seemed to lose her own footing. She was whisked off the ground and cradled in another's arms.

Ciel huffed a bit, which was swiftly overcome, and walked straight in the river. He was wearing boots after all.

"Put me down this instant!" Elsie shrieked. Miniscule waves rocked against Ciel's ankles and slightly above each and every step he took.

"And have your mother chastise you because of a soaked dress? I dare not put you through such trouble."

"I think not!" Elsie wacked her basket against his chest.

"M-My dear, I would get to the other side much faster if you ceased thrashing my heart."

"I do not wish to get to the other side, I wish to be let down now!"

"Quit fidgeting—

Suddenly, his foot slipped. With a grand finale, both occupants crashed down into the water. Elsie's basket bobbed on the water's surface. Horseflies skidded and flew from one lily and weed to the next, flying over the two young teenagers without a care in the world. Elsie's dress was soaked through.

And Ciel's face was red like a budding rose.

Elsie hurriedly clasped her basket towards her chest, treading out of the water, hiding behind overgrown weeds and stalks of bamboo that naturally didn't grow there.

"I-I'm sorry my dear. Let me help you."

Elsie's back stiffened and so did her shoulders. She gritted her teeth and turned towards the impetuous boy. "I," Elsie said, voice fuming to the brim with anger. "I am not your dear."

Elsie said good riddance to Victorian manners, as she pushed Ciel back into the river. Without the slightest trace of guilt or remorse. He went down with a grand splash! When he resurfaced, there was a beautiful water lily stuck on the top of his head. And on the water lily, there laid a frog who looked quite happy, contrary to what Ciel was feeling. Elsie huffed and turned her head swiftly to the side. The yard can come apprehend her whenever they please. At least she will be content with the thought that she will go to prison with her dignity. Just in case, with her basket behind her lower back as she walked away from Ciel.

"And you're just going to leave me here?" Ciel shouted from behind.

Oh, that's right! Where were Elsie's manners? She looked to her left and saw a fellow fairy enthusiast inspecting the grounds. He seemed to be a gruff sort of man, considering his incredibly tall stature and hairless head, but also sincere as he was wearing a light pink ensemble with a tutu and fairy wings attached with ribbons extending from its center. Very pretty accessories, Elsie thought. Frances would surely agree.

"Hello good sir! Come quick! That poor, stupid boy is being pulled into the river by a malicious water spirit!"

The man immediately broke into a synchronized run towards Ciel and pulled him out of the water, cradling him in his arms. The man's voice was deep and gurgled when he spoke. "You're safe now, Earl."

"Oh my!" Elsie feigned, dramatically. Extending her hand over her forehead, like an actress she's seen on stage at the cinema. "Look how pale he is! That water spirit has already sucked out most of his life energy. I fear if he doesn't leave the water soon, it would surely end him!"

"You're right!" The man agreed, frightened. "And look what it has already done to his right eye!"

Silence ensued as Ciel internally cursed the man for just now taking notice of his unfortunate ocular problem hidden behind his eye patch, which Ciel has had well over a good few years now. The silence was then broken by laughter. Elsie's laughter to be precise.

The man spoke, hoarsely. "Your condition is worsening. I must take you to your caretaker at once." Quickly, he darted through the river, as if the waves parted just for him while his tutu fluttered gracefully in the wind. All the while Elsie could hear Ciel's miserable whining such as 'put me down this instant you insufferable oaf!' and much more phrases with much more colorful language that Elsie never knew the watch dog of the Queen possessed.

Hm. Now he knows what it's like to be picked up by strange men out of the blue. Serves him right. Elsie picked up her belongings and made her way home.

Of course, her mother did chastise her about her soaked dress. Gave her a scornful lecture too. While Francis hypothesized that Elsie was swimming with mermaids and nymphs. Elsie had to disagree sadly, she said she regrettably walking around Cottingley with a one-eyed troll. A bratty, one-eyed troll. All the while, Elsie hid her basket full of her secrets in the pantry cupboard on the top shelf in the kitchen.

Her mother warmed her with a blanket and a cup of tea. Elsie stared down in the golden, honey concoction as the white steam gently drifted over her nose. She sighed, softly.

"Don't worry Elsie," her mother said, lovingly. "Everything will be alright. I'll leave your dress to dry out with the rest of the laundry. Everything will be alright."

"I hope it will," Elsie said, softly. Thinking about her basket hidden in the cupboard, her sister Francis suffering from consumption, Tommy leaving for the big city, and Ciel… that boy who made Elsie constantly question whether he was the lighthouse or the storm barging into her life. He made her feel a variety of things, good and bad things to say the least. But she knew where his intentions lied, and she couldn't afford to be one step behind. "I'll make it alright."

"I know you will, my sweet daughter." Her mother smiled kissed Elsie's damp head tenderly.

After Elsie replenished her soul with her cup of tea, she ventured to the drawing room. More specially, to the family phone. She turned the dial and numbers clicked.

She had to speak to Tommy Hopkins. This was urgent business.

* * *

"…My Lord," Sebastian said, surprised. He was currently tending to a lovely creature, stroking her soft belly. It was a beautiful calico cat. Ah, her black and orange and white coat was glimmering under the late afternoon sun. He dubbed her _Felicity_. A beautiful name fitting for a beautiful creature. Sebastian was having a glorious and divine afternoon spoon feeding her poached salmon from his overcoat pocket.

And then his master showed up. Carried by an unsightly fellow wearing a frivolous tutu and fairy wings.

"My lord, it seems as though you've finally found a fairy." Sebastian said, as the cat jumped off his lap (with the salmon) and scurried back into the meadow. Alas, it was not meant to be. Sebastian eyed the man from head to toe, conspicuously. "I have to admit I was expecting fairies to be much smaller, and daintier looking. Won't this surprise her majesty."

The man took that as a compliment, and Ciel recoiled miserably.

Ciel, feeling like a rag doll, was handed over from the tall man to Sebastian. Sebastian thanked the man for saving his master, and off he went. His ribbons fluttering behind his steps.

"I take it you and Miss Elsie did not find a fairy on this excursion." A mocking laugh ensued. "She certainly gave you a piece of her mind."

"Quiet." Ciel said, bitterly. Strands of his soaked cerulean hair clung to his skin. Sebastian removed his boots and poured water out of each as if they were a pitcher of a water carrier. "I'm tired of all this fairy nonsense for today. Pack my belongings. We're leaving." Ciel ringed out his neck tie, as water droplets plopped unto the ground. What in his right mind made him think he could carry Elsie through the river, and then he proceeded to make a fool of himself by tripping over his own two feet. His suit was entirely soaked through, what an annoyance it turned into. The same even happened to Elsie…

Ciel rubbed hand over his eyes. She hates him, he was most sure of it.

"What ails you?" Sebastian asked, confused. Cleaning hurriedly. He was hoping to find Felicity, his feline sweetheart, if time permits. But usually for a butler, time never does.

"Nothing of importance," Ciel mumbled. Wondering when his cheeks would fade from it's burning coal hue.

"Oh!" Suddenly, Sebastian removed an article of interest from his coat which immediately caught Ciel's attention. His sour feelings vanished immediately. The article was a stamped envelope with the Queen's insignia. "This letter arrived while you were on your excursion."

Ciel lurched forward, "you should have informed me as soon as it arrived." He ran a hand threw his hair, worriedly wondering what the Queen wants now. Perhaps she wants a centaur or the loch ness monster to accompany her fairy which Ciel has not yet acquired. Heaven forbid she desires a unicorn, if so he was tempted to just find a goat and glue a horn on its brow. He read the letter, voraciously.

Then he handed the letter to Sebastian. After reading its contents, he looked at Ciel in silence.

Ciel breathed. Looking towards Cottingley meadow. At the dandelions and lilies and tulips cascading the ground. He thought to himself for a while, solemnly.

"What do you make of this?" Sebastian inquired. "These could just be rumors, gorged and romanticized on myth alone."

"Rumors that are strong enough that require the mind of Sieglinde Sullivan? I think not." Ciel eyed his butler briefly, then diverted his gaze. Sullivan, who was once known as the Green Witch, is renowned for her workings in biochemistry and beyond working under the guidance and financial backing of Queen Victoria. Her work has even acquired the attention of the Americans from overseas. It was no longer a battle over land with arms and weapons. This was an era of knowledge, of patent wars and invention rights. "But I am Her Majesty's watch dog. Whatever she needs, whatever she desires… I obey and bend to her will and all her dirty work that goes beyond the power of the yard. I will do as told. Loyally and faithfully. That is my purpose. Her majesty summons that I and Lady Sullivan have an audience with her immediately. Make it happen."

"Yes, my Lord."

Ciel remained quiet and thought to himself in the carriage on the way to his manor. He looked out the window at the pink and orange tinted sky slowly turning dark. The warm air began to shift to an icy cold. His eyes narrowed, grimly.

He looked down at his ring, a Phantomhive family heirloom. A dangerous article that constantly reminded him of his demise. The gem was somber and dark and grave. Its surface was cold to touch. Then he thought of what Elsie said. The notion truly humored him. Wouldn't it be a wondrous thing if he really could change his fate?

He laughed to himself. A laugh that slowly died out.

It was best not to dwell on the impossible. Ciel knows that well enough. He held the letter of Her Majesty the Queen in his hands. Reading its contents over again.

Something was brewing beneath the dark underbelly of London. Beneath the grime and muck and filth, hidden in London's underground. Where thieves and criminals and drug cartels dwell. Enough stalling, Ciel thought. It was about time he became part of it.

* * *

There were many nights in Cottingley where the fog becomes so thick, stretching on into the night, that is becomes impossible to see the stars.

Tonight, was one of those nights.

A fire loomed in the deep within Cottingley meadows. Embers burned scarlet and the flames danced wildly on a bonfire.

Tommy threw in more wood into the ever-growing fire. Sweat trickled down from his brow as the heat pressed against his skin. When he was finished, the fire was at its peak. Elsie threw in all her valuables. All her secrets that enticed and enraptured the city of London. They curled up in the fire. Paper wings and paper fairies and paper dreams charred and blackened and turned to ash. Finally, Elsie tossed in the last reel of photos taken by Tommy. Her and her pretend fairies.

Elsie and Tommy stood side by side as they watched their creations, their work, and their lies burn. His hand held hers, and she did not mind.

' _I'm sorry Francis,_ ' Elsie thought. _'But I can't keep playing this game anyone. I'm so sorry.'_

It was all over now.

London has seen the last of the Cottingley fairies.

* * *

The train's horn roared in the station, as passengers hurried to get on board.

It was the day of Tommy's departure to the city, to begin his apprenticeship under Madam Dauphine, a shrewd but reputable businesswoman, and it was time to say goodbye.

He held his luggage in one arm while his mother refused to let go of the other, in what seemed to have turned into an endless hug. His father had to (delicately) pry her away from her son. Which then Tommy's cheeks and brow received endless kisses.

"Ma," Tommy said. "I'm going to miss the train if you keep at it."

Just to make sure, she adjusted his collar and smoothed his hair and sneaked in one more goodbye kiss to her eldest son. She told him to be good, to listen to Madam Dauphine, to be a good apprentice, to not get into any trouble in the city for there are many hoodlums there, and to always write frequently. And if time permits, to find a loving girl whom he can one day call his wife.

Tommy looked over to Elsie, bashfully. And did she in return.

"Elsie," Tommy said. He looked back between her and the train. It was almost time for departure. "Thank you for everything."

Elsie shook her head. "I should be the one thanking you. Now there is nothing tying you back to Cottingley from succeeding on your own." She said, sadly.

Tommy leaned into her ear and whispered. "Cottingley will always be my home, because you are here."

Elsie's face blushed.

"Remember the promise I made to you. I mean every word of it. I will wait for you Elsie Wright." He tenderly caressed her hand and kissed it. "Always."

Suddenly, a little girl tugged on Elsie's skirt. She was holding a small basket filled with roses. Fully bloomed and fragrant. Tommy bought one and placed a single rose into Elsie's hand.

Tommy smiled, "Someday I will give you a beautiful ring. A ring worthy enough to be placed on your finger, but all I can give you now is a rose."

"A rose is all I need," The aroma of the rose filled the air, and Elsie's heart. This was better than any ring she could ever receive. "Thank you."

Soon, she was waving goodbye to her dear friend. Seeing his figure fade while the train traveled further and further down the tracks towards London.

He wasn't even gone a day, and Elsie already missed him terribly.

* * *

The market buzzed with the chatter of happy shoppers, sellers spouting sales of far fetch deals, and beggars of young and old covered in dirt rags, holding out empty hands to strangers. Hoping at best for a scrap of change or two.

On the outskirts of a dilapidated bookshop, there stood a man in a finely tailored suit. His fingers trailed along the woven spine of a book and flipped through its yellow pages. One of them was adorned with a handsome emerald ring. Even his shoes were made of a sublime black leather and finely tailored with gold thread. Wretchedly, he picked up a book that turned into a very regrettable read. He was expecting something that lived up to London's reputation of exquisite literature. He, unfortunately, raised the bar too high.

The line read distastefully in his mind as his eyes glossed over the words, ' _Fairies wash the flowers every day, even now grown folks don't know it. Fairies sleep at night and that's why we don't see them during the day. In the morning when water droplets cling to flower petals, that is the morning dew placed by a dedicated little fairy wanting to make the world beautiful as each and every one of you, smiling little darlings.'_

The man rolled his eyes, then gazed around the other books on display. He was only met with one disappointing title after another; _Fairy myth and lore, Flower fairies unveiled, A Fairy's garden of gumdrops and peppermint, and The spritely spirit of the wind and the chicken of the west._ These couldn't be the great and infamous books that come out of England? Where was _Sherlock Holmes_ or _A Study in Scarlet_ that he's heard so many good talks about! But instead, every store he's visited in this strange county of London only sells rubbish, and false promises.

This entire land of England was talking endlessly about fairies, and none of them could get their head around the right notion of it. How sad. How unfortunate.

How irritating! Just when he was about to complain to the manager of the shop, he saw a picture of what resembled a fairy creature, dancing foolishly next to a young girl, on the front cover of the London Gazette newspaper no less! He squinted his eyes towards the small black font which read, _Elsie Wright, the girl who brought magic back to London!_

Brought back magic to London!? From this girl? Impossible! Who'd believe such nonsense? But then he looked around. He was surrounded by newspapers spouting fairy gossip, toy stores selling fairy themed dolls overflowing the shelves, and book stores failing to provide a variety of books that didn't have to do with this twisted misconception of dainty flying creatures.

The man looked around his surroundings and nodding to himself, sorely. It was only these sorts of people that believed this sort of nonsense.

Just then a young boy came into his vision. The creature was dirty and filthy and reeked of rotten grime and slug. Yet it reached out its hands towards the man, begging. The boy took a step forward and the man wanted to take a step back.

The boy opened up his hands, begging. "Please sir, I am so hungry. One shilling is all I ask."

The man, absentmindedly, handed the miserable thing the miserable book he was reading and proceeded to walk away from the book shop and into the crowd of shoppers and sellers. He mingled into the crowd unnoticed. No matter, the adjusted his ring. Reading frivolous books wasn't the listen he traveled so far from home all the way to this land full of bumpkins.

The boy looked down at the book then up at the man who was nowhere to be found. He was going to shout that he couldn't eat a book nor buy food with it. Just when he was about to spout profane language he's heard in the allies and streets all over London. He looked down at his hands, and his jaw gaped wide open.

He clutched it tightly in his hands and towards his chest, looked front, over and behind his shoulders anxiously, and ran as fast as he could.

It wasn't every day that a boring book turned into a purse, over flowing to the brim with gold coins.

Eager and restless, the boy scurried into the dark alley with his horde. His footsteps echoed off the building walls. Keeping his treasure close to his heart.

The boy was blind to think no one else saw his horde as more steps followed behind him. Inching closer and closer towards his heart. Rotten and foul and beastly. As their claws tore and gnawed and beaten the child.

Whose fault was it? The boy or the man? The man who carelessly gave away such treasure or the boy who accepted it blindly?

Whose fault was it? For the fool who invited death.

* * *

 **Hi! Thank you so much for reading chapter 5! *hugs***

 **Ciel is down on his luck isn't he? Will he ever be able to make it up to Elsie? XDD Now that Elsie and Tommy destroyed the evidence will the future be brighter for the both of them? AND the mysterious man with the emerald ring! what do you think of him? ( and he knew what was going to happen with the kid and the huge bag of coins, yikes!)**

 **Thank you so much for your encouraging reviews guys ;A; Thank you for supporting the story *hearts* It means the world to me! And I really appreciate you guys asking questions as well! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please let me know what you thought of it in the reviews pretty please :D What were your favorite moments? I also have a blog for the story ('aroseforelsie' dot tumblr dot com) You can ask questions there too if you want XD**

 **Thanks for reading and see you next time!**


	6. Star Light, Star Bright

**Chapter 6: Star Light, Star Bright**

"Faerie might be beautiful, but its beauty is like a golden stag's carcass, crawling with maggots beneath his hide, ready to burst."

-Holly Black, The Cruel Prince

* * *

Ciel's cane rapped against the cobblestone streets of London with his butler, dutifully, trailing behind him. The young man's gaze drifted past eager shopkeepers and all their tacky trinkets displaced through glass windows. He saw wind-up tin soldiers, spinning tops, knucklebones*, and tottering wooden horses and other toys fit for children to play and imagine and pretend to be whatever they wished to become. But then he saw the same toys in the same windows in the same spots they were originally placed, for a few weeks now. And this disappointed him, greatly.

No wit, no originality, no creativity. It was in Ciel's opinion that novel ideas for games and toys were becoming scarce, while farfetched and second-rate ideas consisting of passing fads and gimmicks increased exponentially. Which were being used up in abundance. Ciel lowered his gaze towards a glass display, furrowing his brows rather unpleasantly.

Why would any child want to play with a stuffed cabbage-looking doll with a carrot for a nose? Of course, it's accessories consisted of a miniature wheelbarrow and a miniature toy rabbit. An ugly miniature rabbit to be precise. Ciel tilted his head to the side. He examined the rabbit and thought that it has a hungry look in his eyes. And it was looking directly at the doll's carrot nose.

A quiet laugh escaped Ciel's lips.

"What do you find amusing young master?" Sebastian asked.

"That businessmen should give creativity a rest and leave it up to artists to create good toys for a change." It's not a very good idea for adults who have forgotten that they were once children to make toys for children. What will they sell next? Junior shaving cream packs or make your own tie kits? Ciel looked back over his shoulder and commanded. "Buy one of these will you."

"So, this trinket has peaked your interest after all?"

"On the contrary," Ciel said. "I feel sorry that this company will soon go out of business. One sale may boost their morale in their dark days to come."

After a rather odd toy was purchased, Ciel huffed to himself, somberly. He amusingly imagined that there was actually a toy company that proved to rival his own. Out of all the toymakers in England, wasn't there at least one to rise to the challenge? Really. How hard was it to procure an endlessly growing empire of bestselling toys beloved by every child in the English speaking Common Wealth?

He held a stuffed animal in his hands. It was a duck with a ribbon tied around its neck. This one was far less repulsive than the other. Which was definitely a compliment by the Earl of Phantomhive. Ciel handed it to Sebastian, unamusingly.

These habits have weaved their way into Ciel's routine. He would regularly walk around the streets of the city, of the shops and plazas and stores without buying a single thing. Or buying several odd things. He'd let his eyes wander and explore what new treasures made their debut in the market. He would scope out the competition. He would gather new ideas. He would (sometimes) knockoff ideas that he thought he could execute more efficiently that his peers. And he did execute them, gloriously.

Bestsellers. Crowd favorites. Iconic mementos forever to be held in one's childhood memory.

But there were also times, without thinking of the market, of the competition, sales, prices and who's selling what in where or when. He'd just shop. Shop for himself or for a laugh or window shop. Although, his favorite time of the year to browse past stores and displays was during Christmas. Every store has its own Christmas tree, but not one would look the same than the shop next to it. Candles and ribbons and tinsel and gingerbread cookies adorned these festive trees. There was never a single frown that gazed upon these beautiful spectacles. Christmas time was really the most glorious time of the year.

But the time of the year currently would not be called spectacular in the slightest. Ciel was caught in the peak of spring. Instead of being met with the scent of gingerbread cookies mingling in the air, he was met with pollen, thus worsening his allergies in this dreadful season.

"Another tissue sir?" Sebastian said, offering some from his coat pocket. Despite his reverent sniffling, Ciel weakly shooed them away. Only to take one several moments later. Just in case.

"Are all of today's products in the carriage?"  
"Yes sir, you managed to clean every toy out from every toy store this morning. I can already hear the cries of thousands of disheartened children ringing in my ears."

Ciel held a tissue to his nose and blew a storm. Well, for Sebastian's information, Ciel donates many of these proceeds (toys) to Queen Victoria's Children's Hospital. The Earl of Phantomhive was capable of performing many charitable acts, contrary to the disbelief of practically anyone who has ever met him. Ciel Phantomhive does have a, decently, good heart. Plus, the Scotland Yard tends to get off his back when he does such saintly deeds. Only for a bit though. Batting his pretty lashes will only get him so far. That's why it was best to donate regularly to various charities, rather than all at once. It really does make him look more genuine.

"Where are we off to next, My Lord? The candy emporium? The carnival? Or the Queen's zoo at The Tower of London where you and Miss Elsie escaped to not so long ago?"

Ciel did have a pleasant time with Elsie at the zoo, maybe he should ask her to go with him again. As an apology to make up for his impudent behavior at Cottingley Meadows. He still can't get over how he mistreated her at the river…or how that gigantic man in the fairy outfit carried him out of the river. Ciel might as well have drowned in that river from sheer embarrassment! Especially since Sebastian won't let him live it down. Poking fun at the young Lord whenever they pass by displays of fairy dolls and frilly pink tutus. For bloody sake, Ciel is the laughing stock among the Phantomhive servants!

Ciel coughed, once. "Let's make our leave, shall we. After all Dr. Sullivan has been waiting long enough."

"Yes, My Lord."

Off they went. Pulled by a horse drawn carriage filled to the brim with a mountain of toys, one stuffy young master, and a butler with a new-found hobby (gossiping about Ciel's most embarrassing moments) that keeps him constantly entertained.

"My Lord, should we tell Dr. Sullivan of your fascinating encounter with that lovely Cottingley fairy that saved you from drowning in the river?"

"Cease your nonsense."

Sebastian smirked and looked out the window. He made up his mind that he'd tell Sieglinde Sullivan anyway.

* * *

Madame Dauphine straightened the tie around Tommy's neck, snugly.

"Madame," Tommy squeaked. "I can't breathe."

"And have clients think my employees are bumpkins from the country who can't dress right. I won't allow that." She gave one good tug and Tommy knew that if he was going to keep his job, he had to give up breathing altogether. "There, you look sharp as an arrow."

Tommy gazed up at his boss. She wore her hair up in a bun with round spectacles over her eyes. Tommy noticed, a little enviously, that she also wasn't wearing a tie. Madame Dauphine is the proud manager and owner of Capital London Banks. She has recently, out of the goodness of her heart, apprenticed Tommy into becoming a banker. This was his first day on the job working at the desk.

Tommy inconspicuously loosened the tie around his neck, right when Madame Dauphine's head whipped towards the chiming of the bell attached to the front door. Tommy thought, is he were to untimely pass from suffocation, he would look very spiffy in his casket. Tie and all.

An elderly man wobbled into the bank. He wore a black overcoat with a top hat and a gentle wrinkled smile on his face. "Good morning," he said.

Madame Dauphine peered down at Tommy with a hawk's gaze. Oh, he was supposed to reply in return! "Good Morning Sir! How may I help you today?"

"I would like to make a deposit into my account."

"And what is your name?" Tommy scrolled over to the cabinet, while his hands grazed over files with hundreds of names.

"William Townsend." The man slowly reached into his pocket, to obtain his purse. His hands were shaking as he placed one coin then another down on the wooden desk. "one, two, three…." The man mumbled, counting each and every coin. "four, five, six…."

Tommy heard the clock tick on and on and on. By the time the main reached the 37th coin, Tommy was fast asleep, already counting coins jumping over fences in his head.

"thirty-eight, thirty eight, thirty nine….oh drat!" The man laughed. "I seem to have miscounted my coins." He folded his wrinkled fingers in and out of his palms. Contemplating on what to do next. Counting was hard work.

"It's quite alright sir, if you would allow me to assist you-

If only the man had a proper working hearing aid then maybe he would let Tommy help him. "Excuse me, while I recount them. One…two...three…four…"

It took four hours. Four hours to deposit one measly purse of coins. Nonetheless, Tommy thanked Sir William for choosing to come to Capital London Banks and internally hoped that he wouldn't come back again, or at least come back with a working hearing aid. Madame Dauphine praised Tommy's work as acceptable, not exceptional. Even though that's that he was hoping for. It was no longer necessary for her to watch over his every move, so the Madame retreated to her study to finish her own work, and left Tommy alone at the front desk. Surely, he was capable of handling any customer that walked through the front doors, right?"

The bell chimed.

Tommy sat up straight and pretended to look busy at his desk, to which in fact he was doodling on a piece of parchment paper. He was drawing Elsie…or a creature that resembled a human being. Tommy had a multitude of talents, sadly none of them fell into the category of drawing or painting. But he missed her already. She consumed his mind and heart and now on every spare piece of scrap paper. Tommy sighed and tucked the drawing into his desk drawer and greeted his customer just as Madame Dauphine made him practice in front of the mirror, repeatedly. Make sure to smile, showing a bit of teeth, but never the gums. It became obvious that his boss is a stickler for details.

"Good morning Sir! How may I help you today?" Tommy said, smiling. Showing a bit of teeth and no gums. Goodness, his cheeks were sore from practicing in front of the mirror so much. He apprenticed as a banker, well, to learn how to become a banker! He already knew how to smile. Elsie taught him that.

For a moment, Tommy lost his breath entirely. And not because of his tie (even though it was still very tight). No, the man who entered the bank was caught in the rays of the sun, it shimmered off his skin and his golden hair. And his eyes glimmered like the precious emerald ring adorned on his finger. The man was unearthly beautiful.

The man looked around the interior of the bank, not taking notice of the boy behind the front desk. Tommy spoke, pleasantly. "Are you here to make a deposit or a withdrawal?"

As the man walked up to the desk, Tommy noticed that his shoes were laced with gold thread. Finally, the man spoke with a thick Gaelic accent. "I'm actaully here to make an account myself."

"Of course, Sir." Tommy said. "Is it your first time in England?"

"Oh, what a bright lad you are. How did you know?"

"Y'see I have family members in Scotland with the same accent as you do." Tommy rubbed the back of his neck, laughing. "My family is originally from Edinburgh, but my father migrated to England when he was 17 years old with my mother."

" _Govoriš li gelik?"*_

" _Odrastao sam slušajući to!"*_ Tommy replied, smiling from ear to ear.

A gleam of light shined within the man's eyes. He shook Tommy's hand, wholeheartedly. "I have yet to meet another man from my homeland. To be honest, I feel quite like a stranger in this land of yours. Everything is so different from back home, it's difficult getting used to the changes."

Ah, so it was this man's first time in the city too. Tommy sympathized with him, internally. "Tell me about it, this is my first time working in London city." Tommy said, shaking his head. "It's very different from the Cottingley Meadows. I'm still trying to get used to all the noise from the trains and factories (and his boss, but Tommy, like a gentleman, left that out of the conversation.) Which part of Scotts do you come from?"

"I was born in Dál Riata*, but I have spent the better majority of my life living in Aberdour Castle in the village of Easter Aberdour of Fife."

A castle! This man was gorgeous and grew up in a castle! Was Tommy speaking to a member of the royal family!? Well, Queen Victoria does have a long, extended family. It was possible that he was speaking to a duke who was 11th maybe 10th in line for the throne. And the castle name did sound very familiar to Tommy, he'll have to write home to his father and ask if the Queen has relatives living there.

Tommy coughed. It didn't matter if was a speaking to a man in line for the throne, a devilishly charming person, or if they happened to be one and the same. A customer is a customer, and all customers are treated equally and fairly. Tommy dipped his quill pen into a well of black ink. "Let's start by making your account. And your name would be…"

"Rowan Merowech." The man said, "but my stay in England is sadly limited and my departure cannot be postponed. I only have thirty days until I return home. Will my account be nulled after I leave?"

Tommy was thrown a hard-hitting question. He was about to panic and go running upstairs to his boss, but Madame Dauphine always said to never look confused in front of a customer. It was important to make the customers feel safe knowing that their money is safe in Madame Dauphine's, ugh, the bank's pockets. Ah Yes! Now he remembered! "Bank policy states that all accounts will stay functional as long as they are active at least once within a year's time span." Phew.

"Good. I do plan on returning after my thirty-day leave." Paper's were drawn, an account was made, and Tommy did not mess up by spilling ink on the previous customer's charts and he didn't have to profusely apologize for it either. Everything was going well.

Rowan made a small deposit of 5 pence into his account but stated that the rest of this deposit would be shipped privately to the bank within the coming days. Tommy had no problem with that. After all the paperwork was finished, the two young gents chatted for quite a bit.

Rowan harped, with a tart expression on his face. "You say you are from Cottingley? Tell me, have you really seen one of these 'Cottingley fairies?' That is all I have been hearing coming out of this country. The English don't really believe in these tiny, dainty winged creatures, do they?"

Tommy was silent for a moment. Perhaps Rowan wasn't really from Scotland, lived in a castle, or was 11th in line for the throne of England (Tommy's imagination added that detail), maybe he was actaully an undercover spy from the Scotland Yard sent by the Queen because Tommy insulted her massive breeches on more than one (hilarious) occasion, and that he was partly responsible for the entire fairy hoax to begin with. Elsie was doing her part back in Cottingley and it was Tommy's obligation to protect her too! "Ah, I just started working in the city right around when the first fairy sighting occurred." He laughed a genuine laugh. "I've just seen pictures of them in the London Gazette. But seeing a real-life fairy in person would be a once in a lifetime event. I'd probably faint on the spot. Hm?"

Rowan looked down and lifted a hand over his lips, hiding a smirk. His shoulders quivered, slightly. The man was laughing!

"Did I say something funny? Right, I guess I really shouldn't keep my head in the clouds when I should be working. I can't imagine what my boss would say to me." Tommy couldn't imagine what Madame Dauphine would do to him, if she found him chatting idly, instead of managing people's money. Tommy gulped, nervously. She'd most likely tighten his tie around his neck one last time. At least Elsie would leave fresh flowers on his grave…

"Excuse me," Rowan choked down laughter, and wiped a lone tear off the edge of his eye. "Amongst all this idle fairy talk in London, I haven't been able to find the one thing I solely came to England looking for. Do you mind if I ask you for assistance? I don't trust any of these English fellows."

"Not at all! I'd be ashamed of myself if I couldn't help you." Tommy was already thinking of popular destinations a tourist like Rowan would want to visit. He was more than eager to give a few suggestions.

Rowan leaned his elbows onto the desk, towards Tommy. He motioned for Tommy to lean in closer as well. To which Tommy naturally did. Rowan looked into the young boy's eyes, the ends of his lips curled into a smug smirk. "Do you know where I can find myself a girl?"

There was no way Tommy could help him. The boy's face flushed a brilliant shade of crimson red, drastically. "A-a girl!? I don't think I can help you with…umm…"

Rowan immediately burst into a wave of laughter. "I'm only joking. I just wanted to lighten the mood. Sorry to unsettle you lad."

Tommy's heart felt as if it was about to jump out of his chest.

Rowan tapped his knuckle against the wooden desk. A vibration that Tommy could feel through his own fingertips. "It was a pleasure meeting you lad, remember that my deposit will arrive in a few short days."

"Yes Sir, I will keep a watchful eye out for it. Thank you for the business. Please come again."

The bell chimed as Rowan left the bank leaving behind a very unsettled Tommy, who was still trying to catch his heart rate. Tommy leaned back in his chair, rolled his hand through his hair and sighed. He really wondered if he was cut out to be a banker. He wondered if he could settle into this kind of profession. The first day did go well. Rowan was a pleasant customer, but what if he dealt with unpleasant customers? Well, at least it was better than working in the fields. He wouldn't be able to earn enough money to buy medicine for Frances. That's what Tommy was going to do. He was going to work hard and earn as much money as he could and become a successful banker. Then he will be able to buy top quality medicine that the upper class uses for themselves. Surely, there would be medicine that could cure Frances' consumption.

He'll surprise Elsie with a wonderful gift.

Rowan asked about finding a girl. Tommy hummed happily to himself. Probably dreaming of marrying Elsie in Windsor Castle. When he becomes a successful businessman, he will be the perfect husband for Elsie. They'll live in a wonderful apartment, he'll take care of her parents, and Frances will be healthy and go to school, maybe even college. Frances did say she wanted to study folktales and mythology.

As Tommy was happily day-dreaming about his future, he forgot to take out the drawing he made of Elsie this morning! It was better that Madame Dauphine didn't find evidence of him idly wasting time.

Tommy opened the drawer.

Then he closed it.

Then opened it again.

He shifted through papers and rummaged through quill pens, frantically. He pulled out a tin thimble from the drawer and looked at it questionably, before placing it back inside. But more importantly, where was his drawing he made of Elsie? He remembered putting it in this exact drawer before he talked with Rowan. The drawing had to be here somewhere, he was the only one to touch the desk today anyway.

A voice called Tommy beckoning him, quite loudly, to the second floor. Tommy immediately straightened his tie, just how Madame Dauphine liked it, barely being able to take in oxygen. He thought that it wasn't a problem at all, the drawing was most likely still in the bank anyway. He will find it in no time.

* * *

Rowan held unto a piece of parchment paper, with a drawing of what looked to resemble a human being, that was in the amateur banker's desk. He was able to wisp the paper out when he tapped on the desk, by switching it with an item of equal value. A tin thimble.

The drawing itself may be tacky, but he was able to sense quite a bit of energy emitting from it. He grazed his thumb over the drawing and beckoned the ink to illuminate the image of what truly lied in the boy's quill when he first drew it.

Ink shifted and moved and aligned where Tommy's heart truly lied. It only took one swift of his finger to transform the sketch into a masterpiece. Rowan's eyes gazed upon the same girl he has seen in all the newspapers floating around London. He believed her name was Elsie Wright.

Tommy did help him after all.

Rowan found his girl. He was sure to properly thank Tommy, a kin from his homeland, the next time he sees him.

Rowan stuffed the drawing of Elsie into his suit pocket, and he stared towards the wide-open sky. A sea of endless blue, a sea for endless flight. The spring wind began to burst through the cobble stone streets. Intertwining between carriages and stalls and all the people around them. Hats of old men toppled off their heads and unto the stone pavement. Newspapers flung out of the hands of young sellers. White sheets of black ink took flight in the sky. Rowan stepped into the wind of a country he knows little of, and let it carry him through the crowd. Unnoticed and unseen.

* * *

It only took one step through Sieglinde Sullivan's lab to convince Ciel that he has truly entered a mad house. Why does the Queen take an interest in such questionable people? Sullivan was the most questionable out of all of them.

Ciel looked up at the ceiling, shocked. "Why in the bloody hell are you dangling from the ceiling!? Come down this instant!" The young lord shrieked. It has been a few years since Ciel has seen Sullivan and all her wacky inventions she has been creating. Apparently, Sullivan has created an updated version of her biomechanical legs that allow her to transverse across any surface, including the ceiling. There would never be a plausible reason as to why she needs to transverse across the ceiling, but if it was in the realm of possibility of creating a machine that could allow her to do so, it was only her right to create such an invention. She was Queen Victoria's top scientist in all of England.

"Ciel!" Sullivan exclaimed, happily. "I wasn't expecting you until another hour or so. Now that we are on the subject, what do you think of my newest invention? Impressive, no?"

"I think it is ridiculous!" Ciel said, blushing. It didn't help that Sullivan was wearing a dress, from which Ciel received a very unnecessary view of her southern necessities.

Sebastian leaned into Ciel's ear and advised cautiously, "My lord, I suggest that you do not stare so noticeably at a Lady's you know what. And if you must, I advise that you so discreetly."

Sullivan gasped and quickly shifted her dress, "you pervert!"

"You just noticed now!?" Ciel yelled in return.

Just then, Wolfram entered the lab, enraged. With a cleaver in hand, "My Lady, I heard you scream! What bastard must I slaughter for you!?"

Ah, it seems that Wolfram's English has improved greatly. Marvelous.

Then the cleaver dropped the floor, leaving a massive dent, as Wolfram realized that these two gents weren't the average of the mill street bums. They were his friends. Ciel Phantomhive and his butler, Sebastian Michaelis.

"Welcome friends," Wolfram said, with glittering eyes. "We have been expecting you."

"Your attitude changes swiftly," Ciel mumbled. He could still see his reflection off the cleaver. It gave him the chills.

"My Lord," Sebastian interrupted. "Might I remind you that we are strictly here for business, and not to become enthralled in any distractions. Remember that you are engaged to Elizabeth, but your heart has taken a recent liking towards Miss Elsie. And now with Miss Sullivan…This is quite the problem we have here." The butler contemplated, oh so seriously.

"So, he likes threesomes." Sullivan suggested, mischievously. "I've never taken Ciel as the scandalous type." Ciel was much too introverted to partake in such acts, but it was always the quiet ones that surprised everyone.

"Yes, it is quite scandalous," Sebastian said, making himself quite comfortable in a lounge chair as Wolfram poured him a cup of tea, hold the cream. "Recently the Queen has commanded the earl to find a fairy and thus spiraling a whirlwind of spontaneous and hilariously embarrassing mishaps between my lord and Miss Elsie Wright."

"Oh my!" Sullivan and Wolfram said in unison.

"Indeed," Sebastian said, sipping his cup of tea. "You wouldn't believe what happened just the other day in the Cottingley meadow river between him and Miss Elsie." He was itching to tell another breathing soul, as the servants reactions back at the manor have simmered down about it.

"Ah! Tell me!" Sullivan squealed, hiss steaming out of her nose. God, she hoped it was something steamy. Wolfram nodded his head, eagerly. For he too was interested in the Earl of Phantomhive's scandalous double life. He always knew there was something fishy about the young master. The eyepatch really tipped him off.

Ciel roared, dumfounded. "Will you cease talking about me as if I'm not even in the room!?"  
Sebastian turned his head, minimally. "Oh, my lord, you're still here? Why don't you go play with the toys in the carriage?"

Sullivan was shocked, but it was the euphoric kind that sent chills through Ciel's spine. "Ciel, I didn't know how bold you are, bringing your _toys_ out with you into public."

On the opposite spectrum, Wolfram gave a grave look. A look that spoke entirely for itself. A look that said, _I have lost every ounce of respect for you, Earl Phantomhive._

"Sebastian!" Ciel said, flustered beyond belief. He was as red a ripened tomato. "I order you to end this conversation now!"

After several moments of whining and complaining (mostly by Ciel) and straightening out the circumstances of his most embarrassing situations (begrudgingly by Sebastian) they have finally arrived at their reason for visiting Dr. Sieglinde Sullivan. Which is of the upmost urgency. First, Ciel asked Sullivan if she was willing to meet with a friend of his, for his friend has a younger sister who is diagnosed with consumption, better known as Tuberculosis. It would help him a great deal if she could assist in anyway. Sullivan happily agreed, despite the fact that the disease was prominently fatal and not much could be done to cure those who have it.

Ciel coughed, "Her majesty the Queen, has written to me of something peculiarly strange happening across the country."

"Yes," Sullivan nodded. "All of these patients were sent to the hospital, but not one of them were ill in the slightest. I've checked their vitals, blood levels, and physical conditions. They are as healthy as can be."

"As healthy as they day they were all reported missing."

Sullivan nodded, gravely. "I have one man waiting in the other room. You should see him for yourself to get a better picture of what's going on."

Wolfram led them to a separate room, upon entering Ciel saw a middle-aged man sitting in the corner staring out of the window. When he caught sight of Sullivan and the others, he rose up from his seat and spoke hurriedly. "Please, you have kept me here long enough. Let me return back to my wife and child. I have no business being here."

Ciel remembered the list of missing persons sent to him from the Queen. This man's name is Peter Gruvik, and he has been missing for 2 years. "Peter Gruvik," Ciel said. "Your file tells me that you are a carpenter, and a well one at that."

"Aye," said Peter. "My father taught me the trade and I intend to pass it on to my son as well."

"Are you aware that you have been reported as a missing person by your wife when you failed to return home one evening on August 19th, 1891. Where have you been all this time?"

Peter look baffled, and infuriated. "No one in this room has any common sense, I've been telling you over and over again that I start my day when the sun rises and end when it sets. I have never abandoned my family, not one single day. This is madness! And it is still 1889!"

"And you're right. The day you were reported alive, the first thing you did was return back to your home as your routine dutifully followed. Isn't that correct?"

"Aye! I did. Just as I do every day. No exception."

"And whom did you find in your home upon your return?"

"My wife and son, and a strange man I did not know. Naturally, he intruded upon my house and my family and it was only right that I knocked him out of it." Peter reasoned. "I was protecting my family!"

"Within reason," Sebastian said. "But within the 2 years you have been reported missing, your wife has remarried and her name in the registrar no longer goes by Maria Gruvik, but by Maria Merrit. Taking on her husband's last name."

"I am her husband!" Peter roared. "I have never left! I'm telling you that I haven't." The man's form sank down to the floor, sulking bitterly. "I don't understand what's happening. I just want to go home to my family, but they look at me as if I were a ghost returning from the grave."

Ciel kneeled in front of the sobbing man, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I will do everything in my power for you to return to your family, as it once was. I know what it's like losing loved ones precious to you. But you must answer our questions to the best of your ability, so we may make that dream of returning you home hasten."

The man's sniveling face looked up at Ciel, even though all he could see was a giant blur.

"You wouldn't want your son to grow up without his own father, would you now?"

Peter shook his head, feverishly.

"Good," Ciel said. "Tell us in as much detail as you can remember of the day you disappeared."

The man sniffled his last sniffle and told the story of his life. Hoping that someone can help him. It was a day like any other. Peter woke up when the window tapper* tapped his window, and he awakened promptly, like he always does. His wife woke up the same time he did, but his son slept in, as his school day doesn't start until seven in the morning. Peter shined his black boots, then his son's shoes as well. It was always best going to school wearing a clean pair of shoes. A routine Peter does every morning for his sweet boy. He packed his lunch of boiled eggs and milk and made his way to his shop and worked as he has always worked.

But when it was time to leave for home, something peculiar happened. It was unlike Peter to take a short cut home, but something prompted him to go through the meadows. This path was obviously the less taken kind, mounds of uneven soil, roots protruding in all directions, and blankets of wild flowers stretching on for miles. But Peter decided to take the short cut anyway.

It was when his feet began to ache that he thought it was best to return the way he came and walk on the road he always takes. But then, he heard music! Music playing in the meadows, out in the middle of nowhere! He recalled the fiddle and drums and flute being played. It was such a strange occurrence indeed! But he came this far on his journey and it would have been a pity not to listen to music for a while longer. The sound was enchanting, the sound was invigorating, he never felt so alive as he did in those moments as he has listened to that music!

So, Peter sat down under the shade of an old oak tree and closed his eyes and listened to his heart's content.

And when the music stopped playing, Peter returned home. He thought only a few minutes passed, but it stretched out to be 2 whole years.

And peter wasn't the only one to suffer from the same circumstances. Men and women, young and old, (although there was an abundance of young, beautiful girls from the missing persons list), said they were under the same conditions. Living their lives one minute, then disappearing without a trace the next. Only to return many years later. Hearts enthralled by music, pulling them into the woods when they went to listen. There was even a little boy about the age of 8 who was first reported missing by his parents 10 years ago.

It was strange for all of them, for none of them have aged a single day. That little boy who was 8 years old when he disappeared was still 8 years old when he was embraced in this parent's arms after 10 years. In his parent's arms who have aged, over the span of a decade. A young girl, 14 years of age, was reported missing 25 years ago, yet here she stood, untouched by time.

Sullivan saved the best for last, for one patient was isolated from all the rest. She was the odd ball out of all of them. This girl was reported missing by the Scotland yard, she was actaully reported by a local farmer after he saw her trying to steal one of his cows off his land.

Ceil gazed upon the young maiden, her hair was tangled in a mess of fiery red knots and her face was covered in freckles while her eyes were as blue as the ocean waves. She wore the strangest of clothing. A smock made of wool and sheep's skin, with a leather belt tied around her waist. A small satchel was attached to it, with a silver medallion sewn into it.

The young girl bellowed deep within her lungs, in a tongue Ciel was not familiar with. " _Na bi a 'tighinn nas fhaisge!_ _Ma tha fios agad dè tha math dhut."_ The girl was scared and frightened, she said as she held a stone carved knife in her hands. Directly at the Earl.

Ciel really didn't need Sebastian to translate for him, for it was plain that he was being threatened. For, this happens on multiple occasions, not that the Earl could fathom why…He considered himself to be delightful company. He thought to himself, as he was being pointed to with a knife.

Sebastian intervened, seizing the knife from the girl. Gripping it in his hands. The butler spoke, unperturbed. "My lord, she says that if you come any closer, you would surely regret it later."

"Thank you, Sebastian. I really could not guess her motives at all. I was utterly left in the dark." Ciel deadpanned. "Now release her (and take the knife away) for you're frightening her with your ghastly presence."

" _Diabhal!_ " The girl shouted angrily at Sebastian.

"Oh," Sebastian mused, intrigued. The girl cursed him for what he was. A devil. "You're very clever."

Wolfram spoke, amazed. "Mr. Michaelis, you understand what she is saying? I've never heard of such a language before. You truly are a man of many skills."

Sebastian tugged on the edge of his glove, then thrusted the knife into his coat pocket. Out of reach from the girl. He turned back to his young master and spoke nonchalantly. "My Lord, our feisty girl here is speaking a dialect from the country of Scotland. Gaelic. But," Sebastian thought. "This vernacular the young woman is using sounds rather outdated." Outdated by at least a few hundred years.

"She's from Scotland?" Ciel said. Then he looked at Sebastian with a stern look in his eyes. "Ask her what happened on the day she disappeared." Well, more like on the day she stepped into Great Britain.

Sebastian asked the young maiden, but his only response was a rather unpleasant curse in the young girl's native tongue. And she topped it all by spitting a big one in his face.

Sebastian pulled out a tissue from his coat pocket and wiped his cheek. "…She said nothing of importance."

The girl huddled back into a corner, knees curled against her chest. Mumbling softly in an ancient tongue no one knew. Speaking in a tongue that no one understood. Everyone in the room looked at Sebastian, waiting for him to translate.

"Well," Ciel spoke, "what is she saying now?"

Sebastian's lips parted into a cold smile that of a black crow. He held the silver medallion from the girl in the palm of his hands. He slipped it into the shadows of his pocket. "Again, nothing of importance. She just wishes to return home."

* * *

The carriage bumped against a stone, but the horses managed just fine. Ciel rested his chin on his arm as he gazed out to the window. He turned to his butler, untroubled.

"There's some information you are withholding from me. Spit it out."

Sebastian lifted his eyes and spoke, boldly. "I am not necessarily withholding any information, it is a more of a passing fancy of a memory I remembered from long ago when investigating the patients today with Dr. Sullivan. That is all."

"Hm? If this 'passing fancy' will help with the case, then it is considered vital information and may shed some light as to why all these missing persons throughout the decades are appearing now all of a sudden. Go on."

The demon smiled a wicked grin, not one that could phase the young master of course. But knowing Ciel was accustomed to a demon's smile was a frightening thing indeed. "In all my years of living amongst humans, this isn't the first time I've come across persons wisped out of time, only to step back in without being affected by the passing of it."

Ciel arched his brow, intrigued.

"Over the millennia, humans have called this phenomenon by different names. One name that proceeds the others is 'spirited away.' Mortals are pulled out of the human realm and placed into another."

"And how do you know this?" Ciel asked. "Is this a common practice among demons, or grim reapers perhaps?"

Sebastian laughed, mockingly. "My kind, even the ladder, doesn't revel in absurd practices. I don't enjoy the company of humans."

"Neither do I."

"Yes, I am aware. Your social skills are envied by all English gentlemen. But," Sebastian mused. "This race of creatures tends to spirit away humans to their realm out of sport and amusement. I have rarely encountered such creatures, since our two races don't get along…and have different views upon mortals."

The carriage hit another bump and Ciel was growing restless. "And what are these creatures?"

Sebastian leaned back in his seat. The smile upon his face vanished, just as the day fades into night. "They are known as the Fae. And I despise every last one of them."

* * *

Slivers of moonlight peaked through the dark and bleak clouds that endlessly filled up the sky. It was half past nine at the Wright home, all the windows were dark, except for one on the second floor. And laughter could be heard from the inside. Elsie sat on the edge of her sister's bed, reading Frances a bed time story. A story overflowing with marvelous misadventures of would-be heroes and scandalous escapades of dangerous heists.

There was one dimly lit candle on the vanity. It flickered red embers and cast shadows throughout the room. Elsie, magnificently, read the story of the boy that never grew up. She was reading Peter Pan. And she just got to the most exciting part, where Peter enters the nursey in search of his shadow.

Frances always enjoyed the story the best when Elsie acted it out, rather than just blandly reading lines. Frances giggled at Elsie's acting, her sister put on an excellent one woman show after all.

Elsie wrapped a beige shawl around her shoulder with a red feather placed behind her ear. She squatted in the floor, puckered her lips to the side, and squinted her eyes surveying the bedroom. She was channeling her inner lost boy.

Elsie rubbed her hand against her chin, "My shadow must be here somewhere." She jumped to the toy chest and peeked inside. Then snapped her finger, crossly. Her shadow wasn't here!

Frances laughed merrily underneath the covers of her blanket, kicking the ends of it with her feet. Elsie smiled. She rushed over to her sister's side and stood straight like at arrow with her hands on her hips, as Peter Pan would stand. "Have you seen my shadow Wendy? I seemed to have misplaced it."

Instead of helping a lost boy out, Frances crossed her arms and snubbed her sister. "I have not seen your shadow, and it is certainly not here. And I am not Wendy. I am a pirate!" Frances plunged a wooden sword out from beneath her covers and straight through Peter's heart. (Technically beneath her armpit, but the details aren't important.)

Elsie, dramatically, staggered to the floor. Utterly defeated. Wendy has betrayed Peter Pan! Of all the catastrophes to happen in the world, this was the most devastating!

It was common knowledge that stories performed by Miss Elsie Wright and Miss Frances Wright were prone to major and minor changes from the original plot line. Such as, a pirate disguised as Wendy betraying Peter Pan by stabbing him through the heart. A minor change according to Frances's opinion.

Suddenly, the window burst open, curtains dancing wildly as the night winds scavenged furiously through the room. The candle light roared ablaze then vanished quickly by the cold wisps of the midnight hours. The room was basked entirely by the crescent moon light. The moonshine cast the room in a bright, white glow. Elsie rushed to the window, her feather was tossed out behind her ear. She slammed the window pane shut and locked it tight. Then sighed when the room returned to the calmness it once was.

Frances peeked out from behind the covers, a smiled tugging at her lips. "That was exciting! Can you open the window again?"

"No," Elsie breathed, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ear. "I think that was mother nature's way of saying that it's time to go to bed."

Frances whined in retaliation but yawned just the same. Her eyelids were heavy, and her bed was warm and cozy. But before Frances was about to dream of fairy tales and pirates and finding Peter's shadow. She had to make a wish.

Frances's nightly wishing routine consisted of her gazing upon the first star she sees in the night sky of Cottingley, but tonight the fog filled the sky and she could not see any stars. She worriedly wondered if her angel wouldn't be able to hear her wish, but Elsie said otherwise. For angels always lend their ears to those who deserve to be listened to. That France's golden heart was brighter than any star in London's sky. Frances clasped her hands together and prayed, "Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might. Have the wish I wish tonight. Dear angel, please help mother and father be happy again. Father is always sad when he looks at me and I can hear mother's tears when she thinks I'm asleep. Please angel, please make them happy again. And I promise to be a good girl and I know I have forgotten to say my rosary every day, but I will from now on. Thank you."

Elsie embraced her sister towards her chest. Her lips quivered, but it was too dark for Frances to see.

"Did my guardian angel hear my wish?" Frances asked.

Elsie choked on her own voice and her breath hitched. Until she collected her thoughts and her mind and her heart. She gazed down upon her sister's pale and hollow cheek bones and frail limbs. Frances was losing was becoming thinner and thinner as the days progressed. _I will not lose you. You will be well again. And we will all be happy once more._ A tear rolled down her cheek, "Yes, may you know deep down tonight that everything hereon will be alright."

Frances smiled a gentle smile and both sister's fell asleep in the other's arms.

As Frances fell fast asleep, Elsie awakened, troubled. There was a single chill running down her spine.

Elsie's gaze crossed over to the window and the sound of wind rushing and thrashing against it. She heard the aches and cries and shrills of the night wind. Pounding against the window, begging to come in. Or it was the one begging her to come to it. To open the window, open the shutter, gaze into the black void that consumed the night.

She found herself there. Tendrils of the wind wrapped around her hair and arms and chest. Embracing herself in the nightfall's cold embrace. Staring into the night consumed with nothingness. Black and lifeless.

Something beckoned her to take a step forward. To jump.

To jump into the dark void that ravaged through the night.

Music began to seep through her ears. How lovely and pure and beautiful it sounds. She leaned forward.

The wind howled and roared and cried for her to jump into its welcoming embrace.

And she did just that.

* * *

Notes:

Knucklesbones is a game, which is basically equivalent to jacks.

'Govoriš li gelik'= Do you speak Gaelic?

'Odrastao sam slušajući to'= I grew up listening to it.

Dal Riata was a kingdom that included parts of Scotland and Ireland.

* * *

 **THANK YOU FOR READING CHAPTER 6! SOOOOOO The man who turned the book into gold from the previous chapter is finally revealed. His name is Rowan and he might be much more than what he says he is XD Elsie and Ciel didn't spend time together in this chapter, but I have a lot of stuff planned for them for the next! And missing persons that are untouched by time are returning to England!? Should people be celebrating...or worrying? What do you think is going on? XD **I've been busy with school, but I hope to update frequently this summer, so don't forget to add the story to your notifications so you know when a update comes up XD Did you like reading the chapter? :D I'd love to hear your thoughts! I'd also like to thank God of Twilight, fiction, silverdoutrane, BBFan, Cutie Bunny, Queen-Afiya and James Birdsong (I remember you from reading my Clamp School Detectives fic! Thank you for supporting me again ;A;) Thank you to all of you! Your reviews motivate me and fuel my writing *cries tears of joy* I hope you all continue to enjoy the story! See you next time! Bye!****


	7. I Spy a Fairy!

**Character Ages **

**Elsie Wright-16 years old**

 **Sieglinde Sullivan-16 years old**

 **Ciel Phantomhive-18 years old**

 **Tommy Hopkins-17 years old**

 **Frances Wright-9 years old**

* * *

 **Chapter 7: I Spy A Fairy!**

"True love is usually the most inconvenient kind."

-Kiera Cass, The Selection

* * *

Normally, when an individual falls out of their window (two stories high) they tend to flail their arms and scream their lungs off. That is according to normal individuals that are aware of their surroundings and their impending doom. Broken bones and impalements tend to make people a tad bit apprehensive, and wary around open windows.

Now, if Elsie were of sane mind and awake she would in fact flail her arms and scream her lungs off as she was currently falling out of her two-story high window. The curtains flapped in the wind, almost saying goodbye to her.

Her eyes were blank. Her face was expressionless. Her limbs were limp. And her ears were jammed with music that was ethereal and beautiful, as it was lethal and dangerous.

She would either fall to her death, or very close to it.

But instead, she fell into a demon's arms. Some would argue that that was worse than death itself. But one can't be picky when falling out of a window.

Sebastian's tailcoat wisped in the wind. His suit, his hair, and soul were black as the night. All except his eyes. A fierce, scarlet red that cut through the silver moon's gaze and the forest's dark brushwood. He wisped through the air, silently, as he held Elsie in his arms. He caught her just before she hit the potted plants and wild flowers growing in the front yard.

 _What a shame_ , he thought, _well-groomed flowers shouldn't suffer the repercussions of some fae's dirty tricks._

The demon sighed. A slither of hair falling in front of his eyes. He narrowed his gaze towards the forest, and heard the wind howling and retreating within its fortress. Sebastian imagined the wind to be snarling and growling at him. He was right. He heard a faint whisper, like autumn leaves quietly descending from trees.

 _Demon,_ the voice echoed in the wind and growled deep in its throat. _Demon, go back to your borrow in hell and rot in all your carnage,_ the wind snarled and bore its icy tendrils away from the monstrous demon and released its grip from the girl. A gust of wind quickly cascaded over the lawn, sending some of the fallen leaves into a spiral, and into the forest beyond.

The night became calm once more, and Sebastian gazed down upon the sleeping form. A young girl who garnered the wrong attention from the wrong fellow from the wrong realm. This was a fae's work. Sebastian steadied one hand on the girl and the other viewing his pocket watch. The girl's nose wrinkled, and she let out a small sigh. The fae's magic was wearing off. Good. Sebastian despised the scent of it.

The best repellant to ward off a faerie was a demon and the best repellant to ward off a demon was a faerie. Two species that naturally despised the other's guts. A hatred as old as time itself.

It was now midnight, and this wasn't the only task the young master assigned him for the night. Sebastian thought that he was honesty being reaped of his benefits. Now he had to carry out his orders in the dead of the night. The thought irked him, mainly because he spends the nights correcting any mistakes around the manor that the other idiots, ahem, servants neglected to properly finish during the working hours. A vein throbbed in his head. No, the entirely of the staff are single cell amoebas that wouldn't even know how to breathe unless given the instructions on how to do it, thrice! Sebastian spends his nights how no other butler does in the entirely of England. Knowing the extremely _high intelligence_ of the Phantomhive servants who were handpicked by the young master for their impressive skills and impeccable qualities, surely, they wouldn't personally give Sebastian a challenging time with their mediocrity. Now would they? No. Sebastian was positive that he aged 500 years because of their stupidity. He bleaches the silverware that was polished by Mey-rin with black ink (the nitwit broke her glasses and apparently can't tell the difference between two bottles that look drastically different.) He cleans and removes the charred remains of goat bones from the kitchen stoves (of course it was Bard's bright idea to cook a roast whole, instead of dividing the meat into suitable and edible pieces.) And then comes the garden with Finnian…(For once Sebastian was at a loss for words since he had no idea what Finnian did to the garden. Only that it looks as if hell swallowed it, chewed it profusely, and spat it out through its gullet. And Sebastian would know.) The only joy the tired butler experiences at the manor comes from Tanaka because the man does absolutely nothing. One less eyesore, one less mess for Sebastian to clean up. For once in his painfully long existence, he was thankful. Sebastian pondered that if he replaced the staff with monkeys, they would perform equally better or more than the previous staff before them. Which was actaully a compliment (to the monkeys), but people wouldn't know that coming from Sebastian, since he rarely gives compliments. A butler of a highly esteemed family, the Phantomhive Family, should not be surrounded by so many oaths. He already must deal with a whiny brat that he has to cater to day and night (his bratty boss). Yet, he was no ordinary butler, and he didn't work for an ordinary family. He worked for the watchdog who served her Majesty the Queen. Queen Victoria.

Sebastian brushed the strand of hair poking his eye and tucked it behind his ear. He must give himself a haircut soon. It was a nuisance forgetting how quickly hair grows in human form, even though it was a façade, it had to be kept convincing to those around him.

He looked down at Elsie and cocked his head to the side. Ciel ordered that he'd watch over Elsie. She is safe for now, whoever among the fae has set their sights on her. But for what reason? She is an ordinary human, that much Sebastian can sense from her. But maybe it was Sebastian's demon nature that did not allow him to see past Elsie's humanity.

The young master didn't need to tell him that Elsie is special to him. _Watch over her, protect her._ After Sebastian warned him of the danger of the fae folk this evening. Those words by the young master were laced with sentiment from the heart, as for what reason, Sebastian could not guess, for he is a demon, and he seldom could understand human motives that do not correlate with his own.

* * *

Elsie struggled to open her eyes when morning arrived. Her limbs and her head ached, but that wasn't the strangest thing she noticed. There was leaves in her hair, with several broken off bits, and her feet were dusted with dirt.

Did she sleep walk through the garden last night or something? A ringing noise pierced through her head as she tossed her head back onto her pillow. All she wanted to do was stay in bed, but the sun is up and there are chores to do, so she had no choice and climbed out of bed and cleaned up, reluctantly.

She made tea for her mother and father and cleaned and replaced the towels by Frances's bed stand. She scrubbed the pink stained clothes until they were gray again and hung them on a clothesline along with other laundry in the sun. As she shook out a damp blanket and clipped it to the line, she heard a familiar sound come trotting along the cobblestone path.

Her choices included cowering behind the blanket, pretending to shrink and become invisible behind it's massive form or run away. Running away was a tempting option considering she recognized the horse drawn carriage that was approaching her home, and the butler stirring it. He was clad in black, and his eyes burned like the sun. She was afraid he would incinerate her with his gaze, or what of the occupant within the carriage. Was that man here for another silly fairy hunt!? Elsie prayed he didn't bring more of those wacky fairy lovers with him. Or else she might toss Ciel in the river herself just to be rid of him for good.

But she was not close to the river and her mother was standing beside her. Therefore, it was impossible for a young lady to throw an eligible gentlemen of high English society into the river. Now, if Elsie were an Edward, the situation would encompass two English gentlemen to settle their differences diplomatically (She still would toss Ciel into the river with great satisfaction.)

She looked to the carriage, which now passed the stone fence, and she looked at her mother. Elsie laid a hand over her mouth and another over her stomach. There was only one thing to do. Feign to be deathly ill then spontaneously recover in full health with the visitors of least desired interest leave the premises. Elsie was already feeling ill this morning, so her act would be all that more believable. It was a full proof plan, and who dares to stand in a young lady's way who hurriedly scurries to the washroom in a moment of dire urgency?

"M-Mother, I feel faint." Elsie stammered. She looked at her mother who already seemed to notice the carriage, and the butler, approaching the cottage. Elsie grimaced as her mother tried to fix her hair, which was loosely tied with a pink ribbon. "Mother, my hair is fine."

The woman glanced over her shoulder quickly and whispered gravely. "If I knew we would be receiving company, I would had set out a nice dress for you to wear, cleaned the living room, made tea for bloody sake." She wiped her hands down her own apron, marked with creases and stains.

"I feel sick," Elsie hunched over her stomach, faking nauseas (with a good reason), then sprinted through the front door and into the safety of the washroom. It was time to hold down the fort. No one was going to pry her from this room.

Mrs. Wright would normally chase down Elsie and tell her to greet the guests properly, but the carriage stopped, and the butler was already one step on their property, and he was incredibly gorgeous. Not one second would be wasted turning away from this ethereal beauty. The woman folded her hands neatly and curtsied to the man standing before her, Sebastian Michaelis, head butler to the Phantomhive Family.

* * *

According to her mother, the visit was brief. Sebastian, in place of the Earl of Phantomhive, came to drop off a gift for Miss Elsie. A gift box that was wrapped with striped red and white paper, that failed to be ripped apart by Elsie and instead by her younger sister Frances. Which the child did so very eagerly. Frances wore the decorative white ribbon from the package on her head and father was delighted in that they received not one gifts, but two.

Upon opening the box, through an ocean's worth of pastel tissue paper, there was a dress. Any other young girl would swoon over this decadent evening gown. It was a deep maroon dress, with a modest but low shoulder neckline. The shoulders were trimmed with lace and adorned with puffed sleeves. Her mother lifted the dress from the box, and the edges of the gown swooped down to the floor with a delightful _thud_. The skirt puffed out with two layers was trimmed with ribbons. The top scalloped layer was red, and the bottom scalloped layer was white. Along with the dress, there were matching gloves, a simple red cloth necklace, a pair of gold hued binoculars, and a letter stamped with the Phantomhive crest addressed to Elsie.

Elsie would have _delicately_ ripped the wax seal open, but her mother insisted on heating the wax over a candle gently. Finally, Elsie opened the letter herself, away from prying eyes. She paused, silently reading the letter:

 _Miss Elsie Wright,_

 _It would be an honor and give me the greatest pleasure if you were to join me in attending the theatrical production of 'Le Petit Prince et la Rose' at the Royal Opera House this evening. Allow me to apologize for my past transgressions. I look forward to our meeting._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Earl Ciel Phantomhive_

Elsie's face flushed, what gave Ciel the audacity to think she would accept this proposal out of the blue!? He was pompous for thinking she would just blindly say yes. Wasn't the Royal Opera House the most prominent theatre within London, within all of England for that matter? And why did he go ahead and buy her a dress she had no interest in wearing? There was nothing wrong with a light dress and apron and boots she was currently wearing.

Apparently, Frances proved to be in better health this morning as she was chanting a silly rhyme she learned in school, before taking leave, behind Elsie's shoulder. "Elsie and Ciel sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes loves, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage."

Elsie swiftly turned backwards to face her younger sister and stirred up a storm with an abundance of tissue paper. Frances didn't seem to mind, she pretended the thin paper were snowflakes, and she was the snow queen.

Elsie folded the letter neatly and stood up briskly, lifting her head high. "It's a pity this dress will never be worn. Father, when is it possible to return it?"

Her mother joined in, baffled. "Then what will you wear to the Royal Opera House?"

"Nothing," said Elsie, plainly. "For I will not be attending. Earl Phantomhive will have the pleasure of attending the venue by his lonesome self."

"What does he mean by 'apologize for my past transgressions?' Her father inquired, suspiciously.

"Who knows." Elsie mumbled quickly. "Nobles tend to fret over the most smallest things. Maybe he apologizes for walking alongside a peasant, or perhaps apologizing for his bland and boring nature."

"Elsie!" Mother rebuked. "This is rude behavior regarding someone who has been showing all of us endless kindness and hospitality. It is only right for you to accept this invitation."

Elsie wanted to choke on those words, 'endless kindness' and 'hospitality.' That boy has been trying to expose her of fairy fraud since day one of her submitting those photos to the London Gazette newspaper. He was trying to end her, and all her mother cared about was accepting his invitation. "It is my right where I choose to go and with whom I choose to go with. I thank the Earl for his invitation, but I, not at all regrettably decline his offer. Now if you will excuse me." Elsie picked up a bucket and lifted her head high. "I have goats to milk."

Frances ran up to Elsie and pulled on her apron and coughed. Elsie stopped in her tracks, "Elsie! This is just like Cinderella. Your fairy godmother gave you a beautiful dress and a carriage to go a party with prince charming."

Sebastian is not her fairy godmother and Ciel is not a prince, nor is he charming. (well, only a little charming) The Royal Opera House is not a party, it is a playhouse where she has to sit silently next to Ciel for several hours surrounded by strangers. She'd rather do all of Cinderella's chores.

"And then you will kiss the prince and break the curse he is under and become a princess."

"Frances, I don't think that's what happens in Cinderella's story." Sure, Cinderella gets a night out to party at the ball. Meets the prince and inevitably falls in love with him and becomes a princess, but nowhere is it mentioned that the prince is under a course by an evil sorceress. Elsie feared if she were to kiss Ciel, he would put her under a curse instead, probably turning her into a toad or something.

Frances huffed her cheeks, "but this is just like a fairytale."

"No," said Mrs. Wright as she commanded authority in the room. All eyes were on her as the room silenced. Finally, Elsie thought, she has come to her senses and sees how ridiculous this event is. How ridiculous the Earl is. There were more important things to do than attend some silly opera.

Her mother placed both of her hands over Elsie's shoulders, smiling. "This is better than a fairytale."

Elsie considered that now would be an appropriate time to run away, if it weren't already too late.

* * *

Night arrived too quickly.

Neither did that carriage clad in black returned so swiftly, it was as if it never left the cottage from the morning. And the butler looked the same as he did that morning. Smiling contentedly and smug.

Sebastian greeted her, helped her enter the carriage. She didn't consider the awkwardness that would beseech her sitting alone with Ciel until they arrived at the Royal Opera House.

A hand outstretched from within the carriage. A hand that she needed to grab in order to actaully step inside of it without falling face first within it. Her eyes caught the sapphire ring on the gentleman's hand. She dared to meet his gaze as he greeted her. His voice was as smooth as honey and as decadent as the wild flowers growing in the meadows of her home. She hated that he reminded her of home. That now he has left his mark here, in her home, in the brushwood of Cottingley, and in her memory. And she regretted deep in her heart, that she did not mind that he did.

Ciel titled his head slightly and smiled pleasantly. Her hand felt warm within his, sadly, according to the rules of diplomacy, he forced himself to let go. "I am humbled that you accepted my invitation. Let's have a splendid evening together, shall we?"

 _Let's have a splendid evening together, shall we?_ Elsie wondered if all his words were laced with sarcasm. "Thank you for inviting me. I hope this isn't too out of the way for you." Reciting what her mother prepared her mouth to say. Which was probably for the best, if Elsie were to truly speak from her mind, her language would be far too colorful for the Earl to handle.

"Not at all." Ciel mused. "London has so many spectacles to offer. What kind of patron would I be if I didn't support my friends?"

Elsie wondered how many business ventures Ciel partakes in. As far as she knew, he runs a toy and candy conglomerate that was supposedly turning into a growing monopoly that the Queen was turning a blind eye to. He was a greedy monopolist that was extinguishing small businesses. That and he was the Queen's personal watchdog who was ordered by the Queen to deliver her a fairy as soon as possible. Ciel would have to extend that request, indefinitely at best.

"Pardon me Elsie," Ciel interrupted Elsie's thought. She was too busy imagining Ciel as a shrewd businessman, she entirely neglected the fact that Ciel was speaking to her. And she thought the night couldn't go by any more slowly. "I'm guessing that you eagerly await the opera." He laughed softly. "I said, I hope it wasn't too bold of me to purchase a gift for you. I'm not too familiar with fashion and my eye for it may be skewed, but you truly look ravishing. Well, you already are ravishing, especially when one can't help being born into perfection."

Someone was born with a silver tongue, Elsie thought. Or at least he was taught to speak with one and he was very eloquent at it too. "I suppose one cannot." Elsie mused. "But I can't speak for myself for no one is born into perfection."

"Ah," He sighed, with a voice like warm milk. Comforting. "You're right. Imperfections govern us all, no matter how hard me try see past our own mistakes."

"Mistakes make the world feel real, more believable." Elsie's gaze met Ciel's. "It lets me know that I am not living in a fantasy. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I do." Ciel breathed. "I also believe that it is our mistakes that brought us to meet this very night."

Elsie stared down at the ground, if she only could if it wasn't for her massive gown.

"Elsie."

She looked up and met his eye. Which was the color of the morning sky in the first hours of dawn. Her favorite time of the day.

"After everything that's has happened, you most likely think ill of me, don't you?"

Well, he wasn't wrong.

Ciel took that silence as a yes. "I wish to make amends. I sincerely apologize for all the trouble I have caused you…the other day when scouting for fairies."

Elsie waved her hands in front of her face, "oh no, it's not a problem at all. Let's just put it all behind us—" that was a poor choice of wording. "I mean, it was just an accident and no harm was done. Were you alright after that man helped you out of the river?"

Ciel could tell that she was holding back a laugh, and sadly she wasn't the only one who did. Ciel pretended to shiver, which released the hold off Elsie. She laughed softly, and his spirit rose triumphantly. "Ah yes. It seemed as if a fairy spirited me away. Personally, I imagined fairies to be smaller in real life and less…muscular. I can only blame the tales told by my nannies when I was younger. Nevertheless, I was fine afterwards."

"I am very happy to hear that Earl Phantomhive."

"Please, call me Ciel."

Just then, the carriage jostled and slowed down. Lights gleamed, and joyful voices could be heard outside in London streets. Elsie peered out of the window viewing the glorious playhouse in Covent Garden that stood before her, backing in the artificial lights of London. The Royal Opera House. Ciel rapped his walking cane twice on the ceiling of the carriage. As the door opened, Elsie caught a glimpse of all the guests entering the theatre. Noblemen and woman, the aristocrats of high society, members of parliament, wealthy entrepreneurs, aficionados of the fine arts. Men wore fine black suits and the women were adorned in all the latest fashion trends circling through London. Then there was her, suddenly she felt so out of place here. Elise was just a school girl with pockets full of lies.

As guilt seeped into her heart, Ciel held her hand within his. "The Opera is not as boring as people say it is, though it doesn't hurt to sneak in a nap during the overture." He guiltily admitted. "But I assure you that this play is one of the best the house had put on in years."

They stepped out of the carriage, Ciel escorted Elsie by his side. How cozy it felt, Ciel thought, how her arm fit perfectly into his. "Oh, have you seen this particular opera before?" Elsie asked.

Sebastian walked behind Ciel and handed the tickets to the maitre d to be checked at the front entrance. They were granted to go in. An abundance of voices rose in the hall, people chatting amongst their own accord. Ciel had to lean into Elsie's ear just to get his voice heard. "On the contrary, this is my first time seeing it as well. But it has it be good, otherwise I wouldn't offer it my patronage."

* * *

Elsie has only been to a playhouse once, and it was only in a small theatre out in Cottingley country. It was a school trip with her entire class. The theatre was small, but comfortable. And they saw a production, well more like a parody, of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Rather than it being portrayed as a tragedy, it was portrayed as a comedy. Elsie could have sworn she punctured a lung after the play was over.

But the Royal Opera House was nothing like she experienced before. She thought they would be sitting in the stalls of the theatre, in the front area near the orchestra pit. Instead, Elsie looked down towards the galleries and balconies of the raised platforms beneath them, Sebastian had to lean his arm in front of Elsie, in fear that she might topple over (she did forget the window incident that happened just last night, but Sebastian wouldn't take any chances.)

They were seated in state boxes, also known the best seats in the house. Boxes are separate rooms with an open viewing area that can usually seat up to five people. But three was a satisfactory number and was the number of occupants to fill up the box. Elsie could see an entire panoramic view of the playhouse!

A red curtain adorned the stage, and downstage was the orchestra pit. She saw the musicians preparing their instruments, last minute alterations fine tuning them. Violins. Flutes. Cellos. And other's whose mysterious nature piqued her interest. When the maestro dressed in black approached the pit, he adjusted his cufflinks, loosening them. As if preparing for the battle awaiting him. The maestro tapped his baton against his stand, commanding the attention of his orchestra and the audience. The lights began to dim, and the theatre silenced. If a pin dropped, Elsie thought she could hear it _click_ against the floor. The conductor's movements flowed like the ocean's wave. He commanded his orchestra. He commanded the music.

And it played, beautifully.

The overture began to play first, it was the orchestral introduction to an opera. The curtains opened, revealing a beautiful backdrop depicting an ethereal garden and sitting in the middle of this beautiful land were two figures, each with a pair of wings that adorned their backs and crowns over their heads. The thought of angels first entered Elsie's head, but then the realization swept over her. They actors were not portraying angels. They were portraying fairies.

Of course…

There was a man and woman fairy, surrounded by a devoted court of other fairy creatures. Each actor was adorned with luxurious accessories of pearls and fake jewelry and flowing garbs. Their hair curled and wisped with freedom. The two figures with the crowns, looked to be weeping, and the court erupted into a fit of woes in return. Only when they began to sing, it was in a tongue that was surely beautiful, but one Elsie was not familiar with!

The opera was performed in French!

As the story continued, Elsie had no idea what was going on. She picked up her binoculars and examined a closer look at the actors. One could still understand the plot of the play without the language, right? Elsie examined the actress who looked to be the Queen as she handed a young boy who was freed from his chains a book, Elsie looked down at him and the boy sang in a tongue she could not understand. Maybe the boy was just as worried about not understanding the other actors as well and the book he was handed was a French to English dictionary. Elsie's guess was as good as anyone else's. In school, the language she studied to master was Latin. Which sadly was of no use to her in this situation.

Suddenly, she heard a whisper. She turned her head to her left and noticed Ciel garnering her attention. Without acquiring unwanted attention, she moved his chair closer to hers. Both his hands laid on the head of his cane. He looked straight ahead towards the stage and its actors, but his voice and mind he relinquished to Elsie.

Their room was small, and he leaned in closer, a distance no one would notice, and he whispered into her ear. She felt the warmth from his breath caress her neck, and she fought the urge to sigh in pleasure. Her cheeks flushed, but the room was dark, and nobody noticed.

The corners of Ciel's lips curled into a decadent smile as he whispered lucidly. "Oberon is the fairy king and his wife, Titania, is Queen of the Fairies. They gathered all the members of all their courts, spring, autumn, summer, and winter, and plead for a champion to save their daughter who was kidnapped by the Orge king, Danann."

"Hmm?" Elsie briefly turned her head towards Ciel, but quickly averted ger gaze. Their faces were too close together. "Y-You speak French?" Was all she could mumble in return. Of course, he knew French. Or he lied and knew the plot of the play beforehand. Which was very well possible considering he was just as capable of lying as much as she was.

But she began to think otherwise, as his attention was split between the play and Elsie, translating what the actors were singing into her ear, giving her commentary as the play progressed. She smiled and giggled lightly as Ciel was giving reacting to scenes in the play that had him surprised, astounded, perplexed, and snorted (briefly and gentlemen-ly as possible.)

Ciel whispered into her ear and Elsie leaned forward eager to know what will happen next to the little champion on stage. So far, all of the best knights in the fairy realm were slain or turned to toads by the Ogre King, Danann. The ogre contained powerful magic by stealing the sacred grimoire book of spells and vowed that no one would interfere with him marrying the princess.

Ciel shook his head playfully, "The champion, the little boy, was only a human boy when he was taken by the fairies to serve them. He challenged the King and Queen that he could save their daughter in exchange for his freedom."

"Oh, he has so much spunk."

"I agree," Ciel concurred. "But the court discriminates against humans and so does the King for that matter." He rolled his eyes.

"The boy can save the princess and yet they won't let go of their stubbornness. It will surely be the King's downfall."

"Stubbornness is an unfortunate vice. You can be a playwright my dear Elsie."

Suddenly, she whispered into his ear this time, and Ciel was caught off guard. Feeling as if the sun only shined on him in this dark room. His heart swelled knowing Elsie was near the crook of his neck. Welcoming. Inviting. Loving. His breath hitched unexpectantly.

"Hmm?" Ciel didn't hear what she said, on account of his clogged mind that refused to open up his ears. Instead, Elsie smiled and leaned back into her seat, watching the opera.

Ciel's heart deflated, feeling foolish not to listen to the words that escaped her lips and even more foolish for keeping his own lips clasped shut, and not asking her to stay close to him again.

The lights began to brighten, the curtain began to close, and incoherent mumbles began to disperse throughout the theatre. The play was devastatingly long, and it was only intermission. Elsie wanted to stretch her arms and legs and walk around the theatre a bit. There were even waiters serving individual boxes with snacks and refreshments. A waiter tapped on the door to their box and Sebastian opened it, scrutinizing the waiter from head to toe for any potential danger. It was only an old man with a homely expression on his face. But this was London and this was Ciel Phantomhive he was watching over, who not that many people thought fondly of. Anything could happen. He let the waiter pass who was carrying in a tray of refreshments. The cart containing decadent sweets was left in the hall, considering it couldn't fit through the door.

As Ciel began to open his mouth to discuss the most thrilling plot twist that was revealed in the play, the princess was in cohorts with the ogre to overthrow the fairy King and Queen. Ciel opened his mouth, but no words escaped. Only words that did not belong to his tongue, pierce through the theatre in a high-pitched tone, one filled with giddiness and an over excessive amount of happiness. Ciel wanted to roll back into his seat. But he was a gentlemen and Victorian etiquette forbids gentlemen from slouching.

"Oh! I absolutely loved their costumes! The Queen's dress was extraordinarily beautiful and so were all the members of the fairy courts! They were so cute!" proclaimed Elizabeth Midford, who was seated in another box that was perpendicular to his own.

Ciel's eyes widened as he shared a look with Sebastian, who also stared blankly with wide eyes. A dire moment that foretell disaster brewed between them. If Ciel was noticed by Lizzy, she would surely come over and create attention. But worst of all, the nights were on and Ciel recognized several faces he regularly did business with, and many gossiping housewives who had too much time on their hands. Many of his colleagues know he is engaged to Miss Elizabeth Midford, soon to be marry for that matter. Word would spread that he did not venture to the Opera with his betrothed to be, his fiancé Elizabeth (who he has been not specifically, purposefully avoiding these past few weeks…since he was so busy with the Queen's demands to find a fairy, and Elsie. Elsie preoccupied his mind these past few weeks.) Instead he came to the Opera with a lady who IS NOT his fiancé. Ciel already forecasted how much of a scandal this would cause, but only if Elizabeth sees him, or Elsie for that matter.

Sebastian quickly moved into action and shielded Elsie from the open view of the opera. "My lady, would you care for a refreshment, or appetizer perhaps? Or shall I call a maid to escort you to the washroom to freshen up?"

Elsie tried not to gawk. They serve desserts here at the Opera! Her nose could already trail the scent drifting through the hallway. Ah, chocolate cake and apple tarts. The last theatre she visited only sold one kind of treat, and it was caramel popcorn found wherever between the seats and cushions. "Oh, I'm alright. Thank you. But I would like to walk for a bit."

Sebastian bowed. "Of course, allow me to escort you."

Ciel wanted to do one of several things. He wanted to feign to be deathly ill and retreat to the all men's parlor and then miraculously return to the box after intermission with full health. It has been a while since Ciel pretended to be sick. There were few times he pretended being sick in his youth, considering he spent most of his youth being sick. Well, he should have enough experience for his plan to pull through.

Sadly, he shouldn't have stood up so quickly.

The top of his head collided with the waiter's silver tray, knocking over drinks and glasses. Sebastian moved at a lightning pace and caught the tray and glasses before they shattered on the floor. Ciel already covered the 'making an idiot out of oneself with a clamorous bang to attract an abundance of unwanted attention.' Sebastian saw no need to contribute to it, since the young lord was a master at it already.

The waiter apologized profusely to the Earl as Ciel laid on the ground, withering in agony. The noise momentarily silenced the theatre, indeed attracting the unwanted attention of an abundance of people. Elsie caught the gaze of a young noblewoman. With her curly blonde hair and eyes as green as Cottingley's pastures. The lady more a sophisticated sapphire blue dress, and a diamond choker around her neck. The aura around her was regal and elegant, but also fun and full of life as she could see in the lady's smile reaching out at her.

Elsie quickly turned her attention to Ciel, kneeling beside him. Sadly, they would be missing act three of the play, as the lights faded, and the curtains opened. Ending the intermission.

* * *

Ciel winced as a wet cloth met his forehead.

"Hold still, and it won't hurt so much." Elsie said. Ringing the cloth in a bowl of water. They were currently in the women's parlor, normally Ciel wouldn't be allowed to enter, but the opera commenced once more signaling that they would not receive more visitors in the parlor, and the Earl received an injury to the head. Slightly bloody. Sebastian was waiting outside the parlor, patrolling the entrance.

"Trouble seems to follow me around lately." Ciel admitted.

"Lately you say? Here I thought you were naturally unlucky."

"Unlucky? How could I be unlucky with London's luckiest girl within the city, standing beside me, tending to my wounds?"

"Well it's not working." Elsie stated bluntly. "Have you considered four-leaf clovers, or perhaps rabbits feet?" Elsie brushed away a lock of Ciel's cerulean hair behind his ear, dabbing at his mortal wound. Which was just a scrape that grazed his forehead, beneath the string that held in place his eyepatch. Her fingertips grazed over the strings. Ciel flinched, slightly. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Ciel said, slowly. "It was a long time ago."

Music from the orchestra carried itself into the parlor. Elsie could hear muffled singing across the halls. She stammered to lift the conversation. "What you said during the opera was funny. There is no way I could be a playwright. I enjoy stories, as do most people, but I lack the creativity to produce such work. But, Frances on the other hand. She is overflowing with imagination."

"Will I expect to see her work on this stage some years from now?"

"Most likely. Though they be not on stage now, mother, father, and I get a front row seat to all her skits at home." Elsie reminisced. "Frances is a riot." Elsie also wanted to say that Frances casts her many roles in the plays she creates, predominantly boy roles. Elsie was very good at being a boy.

"And she has already acquired the trust of patron when she makes her debut in London. He's a nice fellow, is a little intimidating at first, but that is the eye patch's fault." Ciel mused, "But deep down, he just likes a good story."

"As people look beyond the surface, they notice that he is much kinder than they expected."

"Thank you," Ciel smiled. "I mean, my friend is most thankful for your kind words."

"Frances will be happy to hear that she has another friend in London. Now hold still. It looks as if the blood is drying up now."

Ciel perked up, "Elsie."

"Hmm?"

"If you are interested, a friend of mine works for the ministry of medicine. Her name is Dr. Sieglinde Sullivan, a renowned doctor, whose research continually helps to accelerate the evolution of medicine and technology."

"She is remarkable lady." Elsie laid the wet cloth on Ciel's forehead. Dabbing away the few remnants of blood. She read articles of Dr. Sullivan's contributions in the medical field and how she is highly valued by Queen Victoria. Sullivan pioneered and debunked the myth of blood transfusions. Her techniques proved to be successful and were utilized in hospitals around the country.

Ciel grasped Elsie's hand, with the cloth within it. His hand slowly descended with hers in it. She held her breath as muffled music continued to sweep throughout the room. Only now, it was just the two of them, no need to worry about wandering eyes or side glances.

"I assure you she is, or I wouldn't recommend her work otherwise despite her outlandish behavior." Ciel coughed. "She has helped my health condition in the past and I am forever in her debt. She is very well acquainted with consumption, ahem, tuberculosis, and agreed to examine your little sister Frances-

Ciel would have finished that sentence. If not for the young girl slung around her shoulder's. His shoulders were quivering as her arms wrapped around his, and tears filled her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. Ciel's cheeks blushed deeply. He was afraid to wrap his arms around her, afraid that he would never let go. "She must be the world to you." He spoke with all his remaining strength, tenderly.

Elsie stifled a cry. "She is not just the world. She is everything that is good within the world." She looked up Ciel, her eyes brimmed with tears and she smiled at him. "Thank you."

Ciel's breath hitched, and his lips parted as he looked down to hers, and she looked up to his. He was overcome with fear and passion, a dangerous combination. His fingertips trailed over her gloves and then touching her forearms. Elsie felt his touch. Felt it trickle over her skin, sparks flurried beneath each touch. His fingers trialed around her shoulders. He was either afraid to stop, or afraid to continue.

Elsie wrapped her fingers around his, and for a moment, she held her breath afraid for what might happen. Excited for what will happen.

"May I?" Ciel breathed slowly, his breath intermingling with hers. "May I kiss you?"

From her cheeks to the tips of her ears, Elsie knew she was the spitting image of a piece of burning red coal. Their cheeks touched, then their noses. He was waiting for her to answer. He was waiting for her to say yes.

And she wanted to say yes.

But the door opened, and they pried away from each other as light cuts through the dark. They were both red-faced, and there was no time for her to give an answer.

Sebastian bowed, "My Lord, the opera is nearing the finale. Do you and Miss Elsie wish to venture back into the theatre?"

"Y-Yes," Ciel stammered. "Thank you, Sebastian."

Arm in arm they went, both drenched with a sense of nervousness that they didn't enter the opera with but will be leaving with. A feeling they will remember whenever they grace the other's presence, whenever they gaze into the other's eyes, it will keep their tongues tied and their minds hazy. It was there. And it settled deep into their hearts, anchored down.

Love. If one were to call it that.

* * *

Elsie was no longer paying attention to the Opera. They only thing she noticed was the distance between her and Ciel. He was still translating the plot, what the characters were singing, what lied in their hearts. But the distance between them widened from before.

It was an interesting play. By the end, the boy defeated the Ogre King by turning him into a single rose and returned the princess (reluctantly) to her parents. The boy then gifted the rose to the Queen and returned the grimoire book of spells to her. He challenged the King and Queen and the court for his freedom, and he won.

But the Queen was touched by his bravery and valor, for she saw his journey through her looking glass and saw him struggling to survive, to fight, to live, and at the same time, still do what was right even though he wanted to run away (several times.) Bravery, said Queen Titania, means standing tall in the face of fear and still doing what's right. Fear is the precursor to bravery. And to becoming a hero.

The Queen granted the boy much more than freedom, she turned him into a fairy prince and all the fairies of all the courts bowed to him, and he was given a new name. A name that was magical and gave protection against malevolent and evil beings. The young servant boy, now a prince who will one day become king of the fairies and rule all the realms, stood tall and proud.

The young actor on stage was drenched in the spotlight, his shimmering wings emerging from his back.

The Queen and all the courts called out the young prince's name joyously.

 _Rowan._

The curtains dropped, the actors bowed, the crowd cheered, the play was over, and it was a hit.

* * *

The finale of the opera was beautiful, as it was unbearable.

Rowan sat wedged between two very plump humans. One kept muttering to him about the play, saying each scene after the next was her favorite. The woman clapped exuberantly and leaned into his shoulder. Rowan wanted to lean away, but the other potato sack next to him took up too much space, and Rowan's left armrest.

"That," said the woman, dressed in an inordinate number of feathers. Rowan wondered if it was fashionable for human woman to mimic animals. If so, this woman is the spitting image of a turkey. "The finale was my favorite part. It most definitely was."

"Are you sure?" Said Rowan, sarcastically. His head resting on his hand. Are you sure it was really your favorite part? What about the one before the finale, and the one before that too. He wanted to retort back.

"Well, they were all very good." The woman said. She lifted her gloved finger and began a critical analysis about the overall opera, mainly about the costumes and accessories.

It was time to leave, he thought he could pass his time by watching a play, of course it was about this romanticized version of fairies and their kings and queens and followers all dusted with glitter and shells and feathers and snowflakes and leaves. The sight of it made him gawk. The man rolled his eyes, at least they got his name right in the play. But it was the only fact they got right.

The man narrowed his gold eyes, cold and dark. He narrowed his gaze on the boy actor, on the actor who played him. Who impersonated him. Who mocked him. But it was all pretend, Rowan had to keep reminding himself as embers flared and sparked in his mouth, that he had to extinguish with frost and snow. What he was looking at was all pretend and make-believe.

 _They will never accept you_. Thought Rowan as he looked at the boy. _Impure fae blood is worse than human blood. They trap you between two worlds, never belonging to neither human or fae. Finally freeing yourself from a spider's web, but the home you knew was gone, rejected, and there was nowhere else to go. So you in stay in the web. Stayed in the spider's web. Becoming neither the spider nor it's prey. Just a hollow husk of a shell of a boy who used to exist._

Rowan stood up from his seat. The night was becoming too depressing for him. He stared at the boy, walking off stage with the rest of the cast. The man lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, once.

The boy slipped on his robe and crashed down on stage.

Memories of his past kept resurfacing, which made his stomach curdle unpleasantly. And tonight, wasn't supposed to be an unpleasant night. It was the night he was supposed to become acquainted with his future Queen. He looked up at the box seats high in the opera, staring at the girl in the red dress, next to some other young man who was looking quote squeamish about being seen in public with the wrong girl by his side. It obviously didn't help that the director of the play got wind of London's most beloved girl watching the play seated in the best seat of the house (who served as inspiration for the creation of the play, and the other on a very old legend) she was handed a bouquet of flowers and all the audience gazed up at her, and the handsome boy she was with, and his butler.

His disgusting and ugly and revolting butler that reeked of rotten flesh and maggots. Rowan was aware that demons form Faustian contracts with humans. Before contracts, demons would scour the battlefields of recently fallen soldiers, collect and scavenge souls the grim reapers have yet to reap. They prey on the souls of the weak and those that have forsaken God. Rowan narrowed his eyes. It was the young man. He could sense the mark of the beast on the man's right eye. Huh, so that explains the eyepatch. At first Rowan thought it was a fashion statement, considering he spent three in half hours sitting next to a talkative chicken.

Rowan left the theatre, circulating away from the demon as much as possible. He bit his tongue, wraith raging in his heart. That was the same demon that who stopped him from making his advances on Elsie the night prior. He would have spirited her away, but he did not have the magic to do so. Not yet anyway. And that demon and his contractor. He will have to take precautions to avoid them.

Rowan was bid goodbye by the staff, they were convinced he was a nobleman from Scotland. Possibly royalty they mused to themselves.

Rowan walked down the streets of London, basked in the artificial lights of the city. The streetlamps replaced the stars in the sky. The city lights replaced the starry sky. It truly saddened him for it was one thing about the human realm he thought was so beautiful. But the moon was still visible. He welcomed the moonshine as it blessed his skin.

He dove into his pocket and pulled out his grimoire book, his book of shadows containing all his spells. The pages were torn and threaded and yellow, the book was the size of a thimble, but it enlarged once placed in his hand. A page opened, indicating a drawing of an hourglass. The drawn sand continuously poured down the glass in sync with the rhythm of the world. Rowan cursed to himself. He was running out of time.

The pages flipped on their own as he recited an incantation. Slithers of moonlight ripped from the moon's beam and gathered in front of him. Gathering in a ball of blue light that was there and was not there. Faded and glowing. Rowan closed his book and breathed into the ball of light. "Go. Find me my queen."

The ball of light fragmented and burst into thousands of lights. Bright needles weaving strings of blue light into the dark sky. Their blue tails faded, and the lights took up their own form, scattering throughout England.

Rowan hummed to himself. If all of England was so giddy and high on fairies, if was only his right to show them real fairy magic. Well, he snorted, trouble and magic go hand in hand. Trouble was any fae's specialty. Tricks always did make humans think twice about their foolishness.

* * *

Elsie was through with all this fairy nonsense. At the end of the opera, she was handed a bouquet as people applauded her and thanked her nothing more than bringing 'magic' back to London. All she did was take a few photographs and lie to the newspapers, and they believed her.

Things have gone too far. She rode home in the carriage with Ciel in silence. Guilt swelling her heart.

"Until we meet again." Ciel said.

"Until then," She replied.

When she walked through the front door at home Elsie wanted to sink down to the floor and lie there, forever if she could.

The lies were catching up to her. They were becoming too heavy to carry. They sank into her bones and nestled into the grooves and cracks.

Her parents, mainly her mother, bombarded her with five thousand questions about the opera. What was is the Royal Opera House like? Are the costumes beautiful as they are rumored to be? What did you and Earl Phantomhive speak of? He's not a married man, is he? Good, so when is he going to propose to you?

But Elsie was too tired to talk. To talk of her heart ache. She ascended the wooden stairs, creaking with each step she took. She held her shoes in one hand, and the hem of her dress in the other.

She stopped in front of her and Frances' bedroom door.

 _No more hiding. No more lying._

Elsie gripped her hand into a fist. She was going to tell Frances the truth, that there is no such thing as fairies. It was all a joke. The photographs, the paper cut outs, her basket hidden in a pantry in the basement, the one containing all her lies.

Her and Tommy venturing alone in Cottingley Meadows taking pictures.

Tommy.

Elsie closed her eyes and thumped her head against the door. Her mother called from the bottom of the stairs and asked if she was okay. Elsie said she was fine (she wasn't.) This was no time for her heart to be confused. She loved Tommy and Tommy loves her. Or at least she thought she loved Tommy…

Elsie brushed her fingers against her lips.

Ciel asked if he could kiss her.

Elsie quickly shook her head and took a deep breath in and opened the door.

This was no time to think about which boy she liked. Ciel was kind in that he would get Sieglinde Sullivan, a highly esteemed scientist and practicing physician, to diagnose her sister and cure her. Yes, this was the answer to all her problems. Frances was going to get better. Maybe the Cottingley Fairy Hoax was a clever idea after all. It was just an idea to make her sister happy, to uplift her spirit in these dark days that were told to be her last. But now there is hope! Dr. Sullivan can give Frances a long life! Then she'll be able to go back to school, then to college, then marry, have children, and explore the world! Frances would have the life she deserves, a long and infinitely happy one.

If it weren't for the Cottingley Fairy Hoax she would have never met Ciel. Who was a pain in the arse at times, but proved to be sweet as well.

"Frances, I'm home." Elsie smiled as she saw her sister. Sitting up and standing in front of the window sill, gazing up at the full moon. Such a precious little sister she has. "There is something I need to tell you-

Elsie's voice froze, and her body was stiff. Her eyed widened, shocked.

Her sister turned around and her hands were cupped angelically. What lay in her palms was a _thing,_ bright and glimmering like the moonshine from the night sky.

Frances smiled ear to ear as her cheeks flushed a rosy red. She lifted her hands towards Elsie and spoke a voice as sweet and beautiful as a cherub. "Look!" said Frances, holding the tiny willowy winged creature in her hands. It moved and danced and glowed with moonlight. "Look! It's a real fairy!"

* * *

 **THANK YOU FOR READING! Did you enjoy the chapter? And what were your favorite parts? I'd love to know please *hearts***

 **Sebastian why did you ruin their moment!? smh lol So Ciel and Elsie had their almost first kiss, and Elizabeth spotted the both of them at the opera. I'm really excited for Lizzy to become part of the story! How do you guys think she's going to react to Elsie and Ciel? And Rowan! He's come to England searching for a queen, but for what purpose? He'll have his own chapter that will describe his backstory, called 'The Tale of Rowan.' Just when Elsie was going to break the news to Frances, she's got a fairy in her room XD oh boy there is no going back now lol**

 **And a special thanks to James Birdsong, BBFan, and Tanaka-chan for leaving such kind reviews! Thank you for your support! And thank you to everyone who reads, favs, and follows the story! Don't feel shy to drop in a review ;D**

 **See you guys next time! Bye!**


	8. At Midnight

**Chapter 8: At Midnight **

* * *

_Excerpt from the Fae Folk Book of Common Law_

 _I_

 _The Otherworld is a land untouched by time between the mortal and demon realms in which the Fae Folk dwell. The Otherworld homes two groups of Fae, the pure and impure._

 _All Fae are equal, but some are more equal than others._

* * *

Frances held the fairy creature in her hands. A creature that embodied the light of the moon and stars. Frances was delighted.

Elsie was horrified. Fear flowed through her veins. She instinctively did what any good sister would do. Hurriedly, Elsie grabbed the nearest item she could to protect her sister. She grabbed a worn-out tennis racket. Very good. She swung it towards the fairy, but it was swift and wouldn't let itself be hit so easily. The little creature's laughs sounded like twinkly bells. It was mocking her with every swing she took. It flew over the banister of the bed, over the vanity mirror, knocked over a porcelain doll that shattered to the floor, and jumped onto France's toy chest. The fairy, much stronger than Elsie expected, threw a stuffed teddy bear at her face. The fairy hunched over its stomach and laughed a magnificent symphony of tiny bells.

It laughed so hard it fell over onto its side, wriggling its legs frantically.

Elsie huffed, aggravated, and decided she was going to squash the little thing. Suddenly, Frances jumped in front of the tennis racket that now stopped midair. She cried, "Don't hurt it Elsie! Please stop!" She coughed at the end and dropped to her knees.

"Frances." Elsie stammered. The racket crashed against the wooden panels as Elsie held her sister in her arms. Frances kept coughing, pressing a hand against her mouth. Blood seeped between the crevices of her fingers.

Sweat trickled down Elsie's brow. Frances' condition was worsening, and Elsie didn't help by swinging a racket frantically around at a willowy light. A light that kept mocking her with every laugh it breathed. "Frances, stay away from that thing. We don't know what that _thing_ is."

"Of course, we do," Frances said. Tears welled in her eyes. "It's a fairy that lives in Cottingley meadows. Why did you want to hurt the fairy? Don't you believe in them, Elsie? I don't understand."

Elsie couldn't find the words in her voice. Her voice was quiet and still and trembled with fright. She reasoned it was too late to tell Frances about her hoax, she could explain the paper cut outs and photographs taken with Tommy, but this? This moonlight creature that Elsie or Tommy weren't responsible for creating. She couldn't explain this. She didn't know how.

Frances shouted. "I love all the fairies and I won't let anyone harm them!" She pushed herself away from her elder sister's arms and wobbled to the creature sitting amusingly on her toy chest. Frances cupped the fairy in her hands with her back-facing Elsie. Her hands trembling, weak but filled with a will to fight. "I won't let you hurt it!"

The little fairy, cupped in a human's frail and delicate hands, looked up to the child with intrigue. The girl's whole hair was the color of fresh wheat and grain. The fairy cocked its head to its side and smiled a crooked smile that neither of the girls could see.

It caught sight of the open window and sprightly took flight. Leaving a trial of shimmering blue dust behind it, only to dissipate into nothing. Frances rushed to the window and reached out her arm towards the moon, pleading for the creature to come back. To come back to her. Frances leaned over the edge of the sill. The wood creaked under her weight.

Elsie had to pull her sister away from the window and back into the room, with a heavy heart as Frances cried into the night. She looked out towards the window, towards the black midnight sky of England, and her heart stirred, thinking of what was lying within it. Something eerie and dark. Something ravenous ready to burst out and attack from the shadows.

Elsie clutched her sister tighter.

Throughout her entire hoax and scheme, Elsie thought she was bringing glimmers of light back into Frances' dark days. Bringing happiness and delight and a reason to look forward to new mornings and nights. A distraction from her little sister's terminal sickness. A distraction from the pain. But, Elsie reasoned as she cradled her melancholy and sniffling sister in her arms, she only waved a fragment of happiness in front of her face and snatched it away far too quickly before Frances could grasp it.

Elsie's heart sunk heavily into her chest. What a horrible act it was, to betray someone you truly love.

* * *

The carriage rode along the stone rode, bobbing up and down mercilessly. Carrying one young lord, one butler, and a coachman stirring the carriage. Ciel laid a hand over his mouth and wondered if it was a better decision to use the automobile than the carriage. His stomach churned as the carriage hit a fairly large rock. Enough to cause Ciel to curse under his breath.

He breathed and loosened the neck tie around his neck and huffed. He leaned his head against the side of the carriage and closed his eyes. Then he smiled. It has been so long since he's had some genuine fun, and the way Elsie smiled and laughed when they conversed about the play together. In the opera house, even if it was for a slight moment, he forgot about the audience and the crowd and their wandering gazes staring up at them. It was just him and Elsie talking amongst themselves.

Ciel rubbed his hand over his eyes, fighting away a blush. Ah! How foolish of him to ask for a kiss! What was he thinking!? Elsie probably hates him even more now. And right when the night was going so well, technically, before a silver tray smacked into his head right after he saw Elizabeth in the audience-

His eyes widened, practically popping out of his head.

Elizabeth!

Elizabeth saw him together with Elsie at the opera house. Ciel sunk back into his seat, wanting to disappear within it. He should have known she was going to be there. His fiancé who he has purposefully been neglecting, purposely postponing one wedding fitting after the other, purposely coming up with excuses whenever she sent him a letter asking for them meet. To meet somewhere private, or at least talk about their incoming wedding that was to happen eventually. Eventually…Ciel sighed. He loves Elizabeth, just as any young gentlemen should love their betrothed, and it was an excellent arranged marriage his late parents set up for him when he was born. His life was tediously planned out and so was his future. Ever since he was little, he knew that one day Elizabeth would be his wife. _One day_ , Ciel emphasized. He just never assumed that _one da_ y would come so quickly. Now that this fixed day was approaching, faster than ever, it was becoming increasingly harder for him to imagine Elizabeth's face behind a white vail standing behind the alter. When he imagines the scenario himself, lifting the veil off his wife to be, he sees-

"Young master?" Sebastian's voice interrupted Ciel's train of thought, he resumed his one-sided conversation. By now, working for Ciel and around a nitwitted staff, he was used to no one paying attention to him. "It seems as though you are quickly progressing in your plans to expose Miss Elsie of her tricks. Pray tell, what have you scavenged after this trip to the opera? Forgive me, now you know her favorite genre of fiction, but I don't see how that aids our cause or Her Majesty's."

"On the contrary, this endeavor truly has been beneficial to both parties. Mine and Miss Elsie, as diplomacy is necessary in developing a better relationship to openly converse vital information."

"Of course, now you know what makes her blush." Sebastian laughed. He also learned to stop listening to Ciel when Ciel was no longer listening to him. Especially when the young Lord makes obvious excuses.

"Shut up."

Sebastian cleared his throat, shooing away the last bits of laughter within there. "First a dress, then a show, what's next? Will you two be walking down Westminster abbey hand in hand?" Oh, the laughter was coming back, and Sebastian had no intention of stopping its course.

"I command you to cease this ridiculousness."

Oh, pulling out a command now is he. A command that Sebastian had to faithfully abide by. It was stated clearly in their contract that he must. Darn, and he was having such as good time too. "Excuse me. My behavior is inexcusable and deplorable."

"Truly, it is." Ciel hissed.

Sebastian thought that he'd also make a remark about how beautiful Elsie was tonight and wondered how much and to which degree Ciel would flush. But it was too soon, and his young master was becoming quite grumpy, steam fuming from his ears.

Ciel spoke, mundane. His voice steady as water flowing through the Thane river. "According to Sullivan, she is attending to all her special patients and though they are stricken by the amount of time that has passed, they are future shocked, but they are adapting just fine to modern day London. Even the girl that venomously thrusted a knife towards you, a demon, I commend her courage for such an act. Very few individuals are capable of such an arduous task when coming to terms of what you truly are."

"Yes. Many people tend to cower and shrivel realizing the gravity of the situation. And cry…profusely." Sebastian has met a lot of crying humans. That was one thing they seemed to be the best at, that and groveling. Throughout his millennia on earth he has heard poetic pleads, cries for help, last rights, foul mouthed curses, and sometimes fainting at his feet. Usually, this happened when he tells his contractors of the price they must pay for his services. Just a small fee any ordinary demon would ask for. One soul to act as a token to cross the bridge to the human realm, and the other for them to eat. It was simple, yet humans seemed to think otherwise. Why on earth do they care so much for something they cannot grasp or see? And the only time when they do care is when they are old and frail and fear for what lies beyond the physical world. When he formed a contract with the young man sitting in front of him, Ciel acted unlike the other humans he's come across. There was a bit of shock, at first, which was natural. Then it all dissipated calmly and quietly and finally Ciel said, blandly. _Oh, is that so? Understood. I'm not surprised, after all, it is only right to pay a servant._

Thus, was the start of their relationship, master and butler, and whatever else that entailed.

"The medallion," Ciel said. "The girl brought with her a silver medallion that was engraved with the mark of triskele, three intertwining circles representing triplicity. Common among ancient Celtic tribes. Taking into the account the reality of her being 'spirited away,' the medallion the girl held belonged one of the four kin groups of the Kingdom of Dal Riata of Scotland during the 6th century of the Common era. _Cenel nGabrain, Cenel nOengusa, Cenel Loairn, or Cenel Comgaill_. She likely originated from one of these groups." Besides from going on scandalous escapades with a newfound sweetheart, Ciel was also acting as the Queen's watchdog, researching what he could about the these found missing persons. "Though, contrary to the popular subject of fairies running amuck throughout England. I have yet to find one book that predates their origins and home. Fill in the gaps of these so-called fairies, Sebastian."

"Firstly, they prefer to be called by their traditional name, the Fae Folk. Secondly, they inhabit the realm that exists between the mortal realm and demon realm. The Otherworld. A realm that is untouched by time and space, hence allowing the Fae and the humans trapped within there to live long and extended lives."

"Have you ever been there?" Ciel inquired, curiously.

"Just as I needed a token to manifest myself in the mortal realm, I would need the same to cross over into there's. Luckily, I have not nor, do I wish to go there anytime soon. You see, my kind are not welcome in their domain. The Fae Folk like company of their own blood."

"Then why spirit away so many humans? Don't tell me they get bored of their own company just as we do."

"Who knows." Sebastian said, truthfully. "Humans that are fortunate to return to their own realm seldom remember the time they spent in the Otherworld, and those do have never told the tale. As far as I know. But I have encountered countless Fae in this realm before and I've asked what they do with humans they take, some are more willing to tell than others. One told me to mind my own business. Another called me a parasite. Then one told me he spirited away a portrait painter, so that he may always have new paintings of himself to embellish in his home. They tend to frequently spirit away persons of skill, those who mastered a craft or talent. Whether it be singing, dramatics, music, art, storytelling, sheep shearing, cheese making, hat artisans, toy makers, designers…" Sebastian caught himself babbling, then continued. "Anyway, the Fae tend to take people who have something of interest to offer. Perhaps for entertainment, or to have as servants. We're the same in that regard." Sebastian muttered the last part under his breath.

"Why humans? Surely, the Fae are capable of these talents, small and large, by themselves."

"You're not wrong. There are those among the Fae who exhibit great talent. But unlike demons, they are not driven by hunger, they are driven by passion and spirit. They crave what they don't possess. And maybe, they are envious of the one thing humans do possess that which they don't."

The gaze in Ciel's eyes hardened. He narrowed his gaze at Sebastian, coldly. "Souls."

"Precisely." Sebastian smiled a crooked grin. "The Fae may live _very_ long lives, but they lack a soul to fill their hollow husks of beauty and glamor. They are capable of magic and they can recreate art and beauty and it all seems quite nice, but it will never have the essence of what humans can offer. Humans breathe life into their creations, which the Fae wish they could so. A human soul is miraculous and is capable of so many things, not to mention the taste." Not that the Fae eat souls, Sebastian was purely speaking from his own expertise.

"You keep saying they live _long_ lives, I was under the assumption they were immortal beings."

"The Fae are like any other earthly creatures. They were created from dust and to dust they shall return. The Otherworld in which they dwell only halts the flow of time, thus suspending its inhabitants in a perpetual state of youth and health. Once the Fae cross over to the mortal realm, time flows in their bodies once more, even they can't stop aging just as humans can't. Although, even if they lived entirely in the mortal realm, they'd still outlive humans by several centuries. Still, no wonder they don't live here amongst the mortals. They too fear death, just as humans do."

"And when they do, eventually, die. I'm assuming they simply disappear."

Sebastian nodded. "There is no other fate for a being without a soul or heart."

And suddenly Ciel thought he too had something in common with the Fae. They ultimately have the same fate. Just as the Fae feared the flow of time, Ciel's demise sat smugly in front of him. But time is only an illusion, and Ciel only focused his days on what he could accomplish in the present and future. He welcomed it, gladly. "And what do you know of this phenomenon, of so many humans returning back to the mortal realm all at once? Don't tell me the Fae were bored out of their minds and returned the humans like returning gifts and presents they didn't enjoy back to the store."

Silence ensued and Sebastian thought, tentatively. "Just as England is ruled by a Queen, so is the Otherworld. I do not know who the Kings and Queens are, but I have actaully seen this phenomenon firsthand, during _before the common era_. It was an exciting moment for us demons, our lives are dull and only revolve around humans when we crave our next meal, one day there was a flood of humans appearing out of nowhere throughout the world. Many of us were curious as to why it happened."

Ciel's gaze locked onto Sebastian's, intrigued. Unwavering.

"The news spread like gossip amongst us." Sebastian mused, recalling a fond memory. "At that time, the King and Queen of the Otherworld died, and when that happens so does their hold of all the humans within their realm. Some of us swore we hear the cries and mourns from the sorrowful Fae crossover to our realm, but it was most likely our imagination that did so."

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, almost sending Ciel flying out of his seat (thanks to Sebastian.)

Ciel rapped his cane against the roof. The coachman was unresponsive. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Be careful my Lord." Sebastian said, unbuttoning his jacket and pulling out a knife that was once in the Phantomhive kitchen. "It could simply be an accident with the horse, or perhaps an unexpected visit from an ill-witted highway man. Stay here while I examine the situation."

Sebastian exited the carriage, carrying strength in each step he took. He quickly hid his knife back into his vest when he saw the coachman unharmed, with no highway man in sight.

"Sorry sir," The coachman said, running his hand along the horse's mane. Soothing her gently. The horse rattled between its steps, frantically. "It seems as if something spooked the girl. Could have been a wolf or fox funning alongside the road. Strange though as she is one who is not easily spooked."

Sebastian feigned a smile. "I'm happy to hear it is nothing more serious, but time is of the essence and my master grows weary with every minute waiting here in the dead of night."

The coachman understood and quickly strapped the harness around the horse.

A wisp of blue light flew in front of the horse, sending it back on its hind legs. Frightened. The coachman was knocked down by the horse and crashed on to the road, screaming. The horse raised its hooves in the air and they plummeted down towards the coachman. Sebastian seized the horse by the hooves and controlled the wild beauty within his grip. In Sebastian's opinion, horses do not have the same ethereal quality as it's feline counterpart. Nonetheless, the horse easily quelled and tapped his hooves against the cobblestones and neighed, calmly.

It was in that moment the coachman looked up to the butler with dazzling eyes. His heart throbbed. Oh, how he was forever in this man's debt. A debt that he was more than happy to repay for the one who saved his pitiful and inconsequential life, and gave it meaning once more. Oh, how he never cared for another man in all of the world until this very day.

Sebastian didn't, at all, care about the man goggling up at him. After several long moments of the coachman not letting go, he pried the man away from his embrace. Sebastian wondered if this was the type of moment humans called awkward.

The coachman spoke, his hands folded angelically. "T-Thank you, kind sir."

Sebastian payed no heed to the man and looked out into the dark woods. Scanning. Waiting for someone or something to come out.

"Is there anything I can do to repay my debt?" Sparkles shimmered from the coachman's eyes.

"Drive the carriage." Sebastian said, plainly.

"Yes, my angel! Of course!"

Sebastian wanted to laugh at the irony, but this man was really weirding him out. "I am only a butler." He replied.

As the coachman began a long and wordy, and incredibly poetic, internal monologue devoting his eternal gratitude for Sebastian. Comparing the butler to heroes of time's past and whose beauty that put the pastures of England to shame. Just when the coachman began comparting Sebastian's eyes to glimmering rubies, strange lights began to glow in the dark. Over the cobblestone road and emerging from the woods and sky.

Ciel saw the light from within the carriage and went against Sebastian's word. He opened the door and stepped out. Ciel gaped at the sight.

Sebastian's eyes widened as he caught sight of the creatures. Tiny, willowy creatures that embodied the light of the moon and stars. Sebastian whirled around and shouted. "Get back in the carriage!"

One small light floated towards Ciel. Ciel saw the creature that shimmered in his sight. It's wings and arms and legs and body. Was this a fairy?

A light flashed before his eyes. Another shot past his face.

Blood trickled down his cheek.

And a laugh that sounded just like the twinkling of bells followed soon after.

Ciel lifted his hand towards his cheek and felt the warm liquid seep between his fingers and nails.

Panic rose in Sebastian's throat. He yelled at the coachman to steady the horse and prepare to ride. He sprinted to Ciel, pushed him in the carriage and closed the door shut. Tight. He grabbed unto the carriage as the horses swiftly moved through midnight. Galloping over stones and gravel, briskly.

As Ciel was being tossed to and fro in the carriage, Sebastian drew his knife and sliced one of the creatures in half. The thing lost its light and dissipated into dust.

"What are these things (my love)!?" The coachman yelped.

Sebastian took out one after the other, the coachman thought he was incredibly cool. "Needn't you worry. Just focus on the road."

Ciel opened the curtain from the window and suddenly saw an entire group of winged creatures hurdle towards the carriage. Crashing into it and causing it to sway off the road. They continued to ram into the carriage. Pushing the wheels off the ground with every attack they could muster. And still, they laughed like bells. The inside of the carriage was as chaotic as the outside. A suitcase, a coat, a top hat, his cane, and other toys Ciel created but neglected to take out of the carriage, bounced and crashed and propelled themselves against the walls. A plushy of a stuffed duck plummeted in his face. Ciel spat out a feather and felt nauseous. This moment felt worse to him than the time sailing across the Atlantic.

A window creaked open from the carriage constantly jostling. It was only a slight opening, but one of the luminescent creatures passed through the gap and plummeted against the wall and fell on the cushion opposite of Ciel. The little thing, distraught, rebounded back into the air and around Ciel's head. Ciel flailed his arms in retaliation against the creature. Mischievously, the thing grabbed a strong hold of a lock of Ciel's cerulean hair and tugged his head to and fro.

Ciel cursed the creature.

It laughed.

No one ever seems to like the Earl, now do they?

Ciel caught the suitcase while it was being tossed in midway and slammed it against the creature. The feisty thing fell on the cushion with its wings dented from the impact. Ciel opened the case and quickly tossed the creature inside. It was only a second later when he latched the case shut, the suitcase rattled fiercely. Up and down and left and right. There was a lot of fight left in the creature, even with a dented wing.

As soon as they reached the Phantomhive estate, the wind whistled through the brushwood and the little creatures that so violently attacked and pelted themselves against them stopped. They stopped and were called back to where they originally came. They flew towards the moon and disappeared.

"We are finally home, My Lord." Sebastian opened the door and looked around the chaotic mess that surrounded Ciel. Ciel slouched down on the floor of the carriage, gasping for air and holding a suitcase tight within his arms. A case that constantly thrusted him against the wooden panels, the boy gritted his teeth when the case knocked against his chin. "What happened here?" Sebastian quirked his eyebrow.

"What does it look like?" Ciel said angrily, blowing a piece of disheveled hair out of his face. Life as the Queen's watchdog wasn't easy. He actaully wondered on some days that the job would cost him his life. Today was one of those days. "I caught one of these bloody fairies."

The Queen better be pleased.

* * *

Only monsters prowl the streets at midnight.

Rowan walked down the streets of London which was illuminated by dozens of streetlamps at midnight. How silent was the night, he thought, and how marvelous it was that humans thought of a way to bring the stars down and align them on their roads. It was clever of them to think of such an invention.

There weren't too many people in the city as there were in the daylight hours. Rowan appreciated that fact. He felt like he could actaully breathe, apart from the manure that infested and lined all the roads. Rowan covered his nose with a handkerchief. Humans really need to transition to automobiles as soon as possible, within the current century would be nice.

He was about to cross the street when a horse drawn carriage clopped down the road, claiming his attention. Rowan narrowed his eyes as he couldn't ignore the insignia engraved on the carriage. The engraving of the wolfsbane flower, a deadly toxin. It was the insignia of the Winter Fae court. As much as Rowan would like to ignore the occupants, it was his duty to stand by and bow his head as they passed. How he cursed this law and prayed they wouldn't stop by to stay hello.

The carriage slowed to a halt in front of him then stopped. Shit.

His head remained bowed as a window creaked open, just slightly. The streetlamps lightened the being hidden between its crevice. All Rowan saw was the wicked grin of an upper court Fae and it made all that much worse that they were personally acquainted with one another. Although, given Rowan's position in the Otherworld, is it seldom that there isn't a member of the Fae Folk that doesn't recognize him.

According to custom, he wasn't allowed to speak first. He had to wait until a pure blood spoke to him. And the woman waited and stared and taunted him for this fact as he bowed his head down before her. His neck began to ache.

Her silver hair gleamed brilliantly like snow. Finally, she spoke. Her voice was a cold as ice and frost escaped through her lips. Rowan felt a chill, not just from her magic, but from her personality as well. She mocked a bow in front of him, around her neck she wore a shawl made of white minx fur. "It is a pleasure to see you, dear prince."

Finally, he was allowed to speak. He feigned a smile, "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Isobel." Then he added, only out of the sake of courtesy. "Out of my homesickness of the courts, you truly make London feel more like home. You shine brilliantly in winter, but spring cannot help but capture your sublime beauty."

"I thank you kindly," Isobel's cheeks and nose shined a rosy hue, as if she just walked into a warm log cabin after escaping from the bitter cold. Although, she always looked flushed, a common trait among members of the winter court. "England this time of year is beautiful isn't it?"

"Indeed, it is."

"I've heard you've been spending more and more time in the mortal realm, my dear prince. So have I, recently I've been on the hunt for a new designer, one that could recreate the same dresses and shawls my last seamstress did. I would love for my stay to be longer, but I feel my body dying here. The mortal realm can be so exhausting."

"That is how time functions." Rowan stated, bluntly.

"Oh, how awful of me to forget!" Isobel half shrieked, half laughed. "I offer my sincerest apology for the death of your father and mother, King Gwyn ap Nudd and fair Queen Olwen. They ruled so benevolently and just during their 800-year reign. Oh, how it felt so short. They will always be remembered in the hearts of those who loved them so, especially in those of the Winter court. I can't imagine how heartbreaking it must be for you," She gasped. "Not to mention the passing of your elder brother, prince Arawn, just soon after. I heard you two were so close, I can't begin to imagine the pain and torment you must be feeling. How tragic. How excruciating. You must feel utterly hopeless, my dear prince. Don't fret, any other impure would feel just the same. Some have even gone hopelessly mad."

"…Thank you for your concern, but I am mourning for them just fine."

"Very good." Isobel said, drying a fake tear.

According to the book of Fae Folk Common Law, all Fae are equal, but some are more equal than others. That principle holds truth. There are two classes of Fae, those who descended from pure blood Fae and those descended from impure blood Fae. Pure Fae descended from the stars. Impure Fae were once humans.

Rowan used to be human centuries ago. But it was so long ago, he forgot what it once felt like to hold a soul. Now he just remembers it as a far-off memory, a lost fragment of himself he can never regain. Being an impure, and not of pure blood, once upon a time he was taken in by the royal family of King Gwyn ap Nudd and Queen Olwen. But that was another tale for another time. He shoved those memories back down in his mind, he refuses to remember them tonight. He refuses to show the pain that seeped within his being to the snickering pure blood in front of him. Waiting for him to show a moment of weakness.

"But that makes me wonder." Isobel said, caressing her white minx shawl around her neck. The head of the dead animal's eyes were replaced with marbles. They stared back at Rowan, unblinking. "It would certainly be a leap in Fae kind for an impure to take the throne as King. I don't think someone of your position is capable of such feet. Not that you can help it." She looked down upon him, belittling him. Scorning him. "Your cousin Lionel is next in line if you don't succeed in finding a wife, isn't that right?"

His cousin Lionel was 400 years too young to take the throne, but every pure blood supported the little wretch anyway. Because his cousin's blood wasn't tainted like his own. Rowan smiled. "I have actaully found my future wife and we are hopelessly in love." That was a lie, he just wanted to say that to see the scowl that fell upon her face. It was worth it. "I plan to wed her on the day of the summer solstice, as the Kings and Queens of the past have done just the same." That, and if he didn't marry by the day of the summer solstice he would be forced to forfeit his right as heir to the throne. That was another rule from the Common Law. His days on earth were running out.

Isobel clicked her tongue, and the horses began to jostle, ready to run. "For all our sakes, don't taint the royal line with your blood. Farewell, my dear prince."

"Farwell, Lady Isobel."

Rowan watched as the carriage rode down the street, distastefully. He scoffed at the sight. When he could no longer see the carriage, he briskly walked down the street, opening his book of shadows. His palm spread open wide and the willowy figures of light he originally sent out appeared in his hands. They told him their secrets, and Rowan was outraged. He let out the sprites he created and watched as they wisped through the night, intertwining between old brick buildings and homes. Vanishing into the alleyways.

Rowan had one destination in mind.

He saw the lights emitting through the bank, the bank in which his dear Scottish kin works. Tommy Hopkins.

According to bank hours, they were currently closed. Rowan hovered his hand over the locked latch of the door and whispered an incantation. The lock snapped open and he entered the bank with his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly.

Madame Dauphine was working at the desk when she saw the man appear through the door, shocked. She swore she locked it. She quickly got up from her desk and tempted to pull out the drawer which held her gun. She said to the man, sternly. "The bank is closed sir. It is better that you come back tomorrow when we are open to visitors."

"Of course, but I am not here for financial reasons." He said. "I would like to speak with Tommy. He works here, doesn't he?"

"Leave now, or I will be forced to call the Yard."

Rowan rolled his eyes. Humans were a chaotic mess of emotions. He gazed upon the walls of the banks, and his eyes fell unto a portrait that featured none other than the woman standing in front of him, threatening him. "What a lovely portrait. It simply captures your beauty, but it is missing something."

The woman raised her voice and her gun at him, as he walked closer to her. Unperturbed by her threats.

"Oh, I know what's missing!" Rowan said, happily. His book of shadows luminated within his hand, as he snapped his fingers with the other.

The gun clattered to the ground, with Madame Dauphine no where in sight.

Rowan huffed, pleased, and walked in front of the portrait of the woman. He leaned his head towards the canvas and heard muffled shouts and cries and screams coming from within it. Ah, he casted his enchantment perfectly. Rowan humored, "Do speak up my girl, I am having trouble of hearing you."

He reasoned that it was difficult to speak whilst trapped within one's own portrait. Oh well, Rowan brushed his hands and turned his head when he heard steps shuffling down the staircase. There was the man of the hour, the one he has been searching for.

Tommy was still dressed in his suit, but he left his jacket back at his desk. His collar was undone and without a tie around his neck and his hair was disheveled after a long day of working tirelessly. "Madame Dauphine, I've found the client's chart you asked for."

Tommy stopped at the bottom of the staircase and his eyes widened when he saw Rowan. His eyes widened in shock when he didn't see his boss anywhere in the room, only her gun that laid in front of Rowan.

"Good evening, my dear boy." Rowan said, smiling.

Tommy gravely spoke, his voice was husky and fierce. "Where is the Madame?" He approached Rowan steadily, eyeing the gun on the ground.

Rowan whirled and looked behind him then back at Tommy, humorously. "I believe she said she went for a walk. Hard to tell though, since her words were quite muddled. Maybe she drank too much gin?"

Tommy said nothing to the man. He knew for a fact Madame Dauphine doesn't drink and she doesn't go out for midnight walks, and finally, she stays in the office to finish her paperwork. She would never spontaneously leave before she finished.

Tommy looked quickly at Rowan, and then at the gun.

He charged towards it, sprinting from his steps.

" _Tommy be reasonable. I only came here to talk."_ Rowan's words echoed through Tommy's ears. He was casting another enchantment, a skill he mastered after only one century of training. Not bad for an impure. Rowan's skill even rivaled that of pure bloods, not to gloat, but it was true.

Tommy's eyes hazed. He stopped in front of the gun, centimeters before picking it up. He slowly straightened his back, serenely.

"At least one of you listens to reason." He took a step further, stooped down, and picked up the gun. He held the manmade weapon in his hands, calmly. He had a plan, and he needed to enact it quickly. " _Tommy, your employer has taken leave and will be back indefinitely. She told you it was urgent family matters. Remember that she told you that?"_

Tommy nodded his head and mumbled. "Yes, I do."

Rowan smiled. " _In her hurried state, she needn't want you to worry, for she is doing quite fine actaully."_ He looked over to the portrait and snorted. _"So, don't feel guilty or find the need to search for her."_

Tommy nodded.

" _The last thing she told you was to go home to visit your family. A vacation, if you will. You must miss them terribly back in Cottingley?"_

"I do." Tommy barely mumbled a whisper. "I miss them so much."

" _You will go home and be reunited with them again and you will be so very, very happy."_

Tommy smiled, falling deeper and deeper in Rowan's enchantment.

" _And when you go home,"_ Rowan sneered venomously and handed Tommy the gun. _"You will kill Ciel Phantomhive. You take care of the boy; and I his demon."_

* * *

 **Replies to reviewers: **

******James Birdsong: Hi! Thank you so much for your continuous support! And I'm happy you liked the chapter!******

 ** ** **Tanaka-Chan: Thank you again! And I hope you enjoy the rest of the story too!******

 **BBFan: Aw! Thank you so much! I loved reading your review XD Unfortunately, the play doesn't exist IKR I had a dream of it and incorporated it into the chapter. Although, King Oberon and Queen Titania rule over the fairies in Renaissance literature, and they are most popular in Shakespeare's play _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. And Danann originates from the Tuatha Dé Danann in ****Celtic mythology! I'm happy you enjoyed it XD**

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you for reading chapter 8! I hope you guys enjoyed it :D**

 **A lot was revealed about the Fae Folk creatures, and especially of Rowan's reason for being in England! Now he sees Ciel and Sebastian as a threat and enlisted -ahem-manipulated-the help of Tommy to help him 'get rid' of them both! Yikes! Do you think Rowan will succeed? And what did you like about the chapter? Your reviews revive my writing spirit and your support keeps the story going XD Thank you guys for the favs, follows, and reviews!**

 **See you guys next time! Bye!**


	9. You Are Magic

**Chapter 9: You Are Magic**

* * *

 _Excerpt from the Fae Folk Book of Common Law_

 _II_

 _The Otherworld is governed by the royal family, Fae who descended from the Tuatha De Danaan blood line._

 _There can never be a single sovereign to rule over the Fae alone. One Fae will crush under the weight of the crown, but two Fae will support it together._

 _Marriage is necessary to succeed the throne. Consent is mandatory, always._

* * *

Robert Slaughter was amiable and an excellent conversationalist, as told by his friends. Which had to be true as it was told by his extremely close friends, which he knew them to be truthful on most of their days. So yes, Robert was amiable and kind and selfless and handsome and _very_ robust. Though his friends did not say those words exactly, but he was sure they meant to say them eventually. Robert was a man of fifty-two with a buddy passion as the editor in chief of the London Gazette should be, which was one of the official journals of record of the British Government. In his opinion the London Gazette was far superior and more modern than its competitors including The Edinburgh Gazette, The Belfast Gazette, and even The Oxford Gazette. As editor in chief, Robert chooses which notices deserve to be published and which ones deserve to be thrown out the window. In fact, he knew The London Gazette was the most superior to all the other newspapers, as was told by his wife whom he knew was always truthful, on most of her days. Nonetheless, Robert feeling as though the newspaper should plunge straight forth into the modern era rather than be drowned and sunk by it, made the most marvelous decision of being the first newspaper to publicize The Cottingley Faeries photographs to emerge from England. Yes. He made the most marvelous decision indeed. He was marvelous at coming up with ideas for new stories and headliners for the paper, and he thought up his best ideas when reading leisurely in the family den of his home in London surrounded by his dear wife knitting by the fireplace. He thought up of even better and even more marvelous ideas when reading leisurely in the family den of his home in London surrounded by his dear wife knitting by the fireplace whilst soaking his feet in a warm basin of water. He thought up many marvelous ideas whilst soaking his feet, some of his life's best ideas actually.

And his theory proved to be right, yet again, when a colleague from the newspaper headquarters came rapping on his front door that one morning whilst leisurely soaking his toes in the den of his home. The colleague gasped for air, panting profusely, as he ran all the way to the editor in chief's home just to tell him in person. Well, what news could be so important that had to be brought to the editor in chief's home on a wonderful and marvelous Sunday morning? Robert leaned forward in his chair, curling his toes in the basin of warm water. He knew it had to be a marvelous idea. He could feel it in his toes.

And truly it was a marvelous idea! For the Earl of Phantomhive sent an urgent letter to the London Gazette, wanting to tell only the London Gazette out of all the others (upon praising this paper specifically, ever so nicely), that he has captured a fairy and now it resides in his manor on his estate and he wishes to make it public for all of London, for all of Great Britain to know!

Interviews. Pictures. Articles. Earl Phantomhive wants the London Gazette to reap all these honorable benefits first before any other newspapers could. No sooner did Robert's feet leap from the silver basin of water and jam on his shoes, now wet and moist, kiss his wife goodbye, and run off to headquarters to assemble a team to work on those interviews and pictures and articles.

It truly was a marvelous idea. Robert's toes never lie.

* * *

Phantomhive manor was buzzing with excitement as the maids and butlers and staff catered to the journalists of the London Gazette newspaper surrounding a rather pompous young earl, a metal cage holing the prized fairy, the earl's esteemed guest of honor, Elsie Wright.

She sat next to Ciel, reluctantly, as a reporter looked from his memorandum notebook back to the earl himself. Jotting down every word the earl said, even if it wasn't that important, but Ciel had an amazing gift that enabled him to make everything he said sound unbelievably important. And because of that the reporter had to take up another notebook and fiercely scribble down every word he could hear from the earl.

"Earl Phantomhive," the reporter turned the page of his notebook to a clean and empty one. "I must say, I've ridden to your manor in disbelief and even walking through the entrance and corridor and parlor and towards your private study I was certain this shenanigan of fairy nonsense was absolute folly, I beg your pardon sir, but now that I see this beautiful creature here before me. Well, it is just like the stories my mum used to tell when I was a boy! It is most certainly delightful!"

Ciel laughed, enchantingly, partly to convince himself that he enjoyed this irksome interview, partly for show, and partly to show Elsie that he was having the time of his life. Smiling joyfully made a wonder of a difference for him and to those around him. For it was much easier to trust a smiling face than a grouchy one. "There is no need to apologize for I too thought the same. It reminds me of my days with my governess, when I was well-behaved she'd humor me with such myths and stories, that I once thought were all poppycock. Know I realize that myths really do draw from reality."

Elsie raised an eyebrow, Ciel's governess told him fairytales when he was well-behaved? Then she must have never told him not one story if that were the case, Elsie thought.

"But believe me I am no more surprised than you are, and I can't tell you how truly wonderful it is for magic to come back to London. Oh, Miss Elsie," Ciel turned to her, wearing that façade smile of his, one that Elsie wasn't sure if he was the beacon of a lighthouse or the storm raging around it. Pretty people with pretty smiles were never to be trusted. That's why Ciel has invited her to take part in the interview today. To gloat. To boast. To chastise her. One look at their prettiness and they have you melting at their feet. "Tell us, when you were a girl, which I'm sure wasn't that long ago, did you fancy these make-believe stories told by the adults in your life? Are you just as surprised as we are to find them to be true? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sure that is not the case at all, for you were the only one to believe in the authenticity of magic while all of England was blind to it. We must look silly to you, don't we?"

Fortunately, Elsie was becoming immune to Ciel's pretty smile. She would not melt at his feet. Not today or any other todays of tomorrow. Elsie's hands lay folded in her lap. Her voice was calm and stoic. "Contrary to popular belief." She looked at the reporter whimsically. "As a little girl, magic was the last thing I believed in, and so was the belief of my parents. My mother and father did not spare their time reveling in stories of brave knights slaying dragons, ancient kings and queens of forgotten kingdoms, or fairy creatures."

"Then they are practical people, as parents should be." The reporter said.

"So, tell me," Ciel leaned on his arm chair, curious. "How does two practical parents who live very practical lives raise one particularly, very un-practical daughter? I am truly stumped."

"As I am, Miss Elsie." The reporter chimed in. Scribbling in his notebook.

As much as Elsie wanted to tell them both to mind their own business, she told something that was far from a lie. She told the truth. Something that felt marvelous rolling off her tongue, almost cleansing it from all the lies she's spun in the past. "I had an older brother; his name was Jacob. Jacob Wright. I was barely walking when he passed away. I don't have the honor or privilege of keeping him in my memories. But my mother and father do, and they told me, the day Jacob died, so did all the magic in the home and all of England for that matter. They firmly believed that it did. I began reading about magic in picture books then novels in my school's library, stories that I began telling my little sister who quickly became enchanted by them." Her gaze softened. "Stories that made her so happy to listen to, like she knew she was part of their world. Flying with dragons, swimming with mermaids, and wishing upon stars. She didn't just picture the stories, no, she lived in them."

A smile spread on the reporter's face. "Then the first pictures taken of the Cottingley Fairies were for her, weren't they?"

Elsie nodded. "They were. Frances wanted to see a real fairy and I was committed to finding one. I'd never imagined I find one so soon." She laughed, shyly.

The reporter tried not to scrunch up his face by blinking his eyes shut, trying very hard not to cry. He was convinced Elsie had the purest of hearts he has ever seen! Oh! Poor little, sick Frances must be so happy to have such a caring and loving older sister! Oh, dear the tears were falling. The reporter blew into a tissue that Sebastian handed to him. Sebastian set the entire box of tissues next to the reporter.

A rap was heard upon the door, to which Sebastian answered it. Elsie saw a woman standing behind the maid, a woman who wore an elaborate shawl laced with impeccable detail and a portfolio in her arms, Elsie wondered what was inside of it. The maid said, "Lady Agatha Redwood is here to discuss and finalize the wed-"

Sebastian gave her a look.

The maid faltered, "to discuss the arrangements with Lord Phantomhive, sir." She curtsied and left the room.

Silence ensued (as the reporter blew his nose). Ciel's mouth was dry, he never knew Elsie had an older brother, one who died so young and so innocent. He thought she faked the photos to gain fame and glory and attention. He thought she wanted the spotlight all to herself, but how wrong he was to think that poorly of her. Ciel mistook the ill company he spent so many hours surrounded by in the underground for her's…Elsie was kind, truly kind. He finally realized that now. Just then, she looked so lonely sitting their beside him. How horrible he felt not knowing how to ease her sorrow. He was about to lift his hand and place it over hers, but then she smiled and began to talk once more, and his hand laid where it stayed. On his armchair, cold and cowardly.

"Yes, I suppose you can say that they are practical people. I love them with all my heart as any daughter would towards her parents. But I believe that magic never died with Jacob, nor has it died in London centuries ago. It was always alive and well, for true magic comes from our hearts. True magic is the kindness and goodness of our souls that has the power to burn brightest during our darkest hours and shine upon those who need it most. If magic lives in our hearts and the hearts of those dearest to us then it lives on forever, don't you think?"

The reporter fiercely scribbled down her words more ferociously than the earl's. For Elsie's words were like water to a dying man in the dessert. Longing to grasp and revel in its refreshing splendor.

"And for you Earl Phantomhive, how did you stumble upon this fairy?"

A moment paused as memories flooded Ciel's mind of the madness that ensued the night before. Midnight turned into chaos as his carriage was attacked by a mob of these so-called fairies. He remembered the brutal battle he endured riding inside the carriage. That tiny little and evil thing residing in the cage was hellbent on ripping all of his hair out. It was a godsend, a miracle, that Ciel was able to capture it in his suitcase before it succeeded in its devilish plight to make him bald. Upon returning to the manor, Ciel walked with a limp and held the suitcase close to his chest, worried that the fairy would fly out of it or that he would fly with it. When he handed the case to Sebastian, who triumphantly was able to set the winged creature in a cage, Ciel did nothing but relax for the rest of his remaining night (which wasn't that long). While Finnian, Mey-Rin and Bard admired and goggled the spritely fairy (who feigned to be in good and non-violent spirits and attempted to pull not one single hair off of anyone's head) Ciel took a very long bath. To the point of not wanting to come out of the warm, comfort of his bath to the cold and crisp sheets of his bed.

"Earl Phantomhive?"

"In my garden." Ciel said swiftly. Avoiding his humiliating tale. He heard Sebastian snorting in the background.

The reporter stared at the enchanting creature floating around in the metal cage. Its color was that of moonshine, it was brilliant and dazzling to look upon. The man couldn't help but lift his hand towards the cage and his fingers couldn't help but touch the silver bars.

"I'd advise you to not stick your fingers in the cage," Ciel warned, eyeing the beastie creature in the cage. The thing stared back at him and laughed mischievously. It laughed like that of a single twinkling bell, to which the reporter fell into a fit of giggles and thought the fairy to be enticingly adorable.

The fairy stuck out its arm from the cage towards Ciel as it continued to laugh like bells. "Oh!" Exclaimed the reporter, "perhaps it wants to play you? It looks so happy to see you, Earl."

"Perhaps."

The metal cage wobbled on the table top.

Sebastian covered the fairy cage with a heavy drape.

Ciel concluded that he would officially unveil the fairy to the public eye when he gifts it to Queen Victoria during his annual masquerade ball, which was approaching very shortly.

As the reporter left, Elsie wanted to do the same, but Ciel (being the Victorian gentleman what he is) invited Elsie to walk with him throughout his gardens. In that moment, she saw everyone looking at her, the reporters from the London Gazette, the butlers and maids. The activity of the room almost seemed to spot in wanting to wait for her response. She felt their unspoken language around her neck. Suffocating.

So, she said yes, and the activity in the room resumed again. The reporter jotted down one more scribble in his notebook, with a wide smile spread across his cheeks. Elsie would already imagine what he wrote and suddenly wished she declined Ciel and walked out of the room instead. For that one inconsequential moment decided the header of tomorrow's paper.

Not only was there magic in London, but there was also love.

Elsie wanted to rip that notebook out of the reporter's hands and shred those silly notions into oblivion. But she was already out in the garden when the reporter was no where in sight, and neither was his dreaded notebook.

Oh, how Elsie despised writers who fabricate and romanticize the affairs of the heart. Who misinterpret and exaggerate small and insignificant gestures for greater and nobler acts of love. She reasoned that if a man sneezed in her direction, it meant that he confessed his undying love for her, and if he stepped on her toe, it meant that he wanted her hand in holy matrimony. And oh! If he dared to cradle her in his arms into Cottingley river who knows what that would implicate!

The newspapers would have a field day on Elsie's and Ciel's humiliating expense if they knew. A day that was not at all eventful or juicy as imagined. But that is a writer's job, to spin dull and unimaginable days into enticingly eventful and juicy ones. Which was magic of its very own.

* * *

Horseflies flew over their heads as they walked in the garden, arm in arm.

She could hear the voices of the winds whistling through the branches of trees, of the water rippling in the fountain, and especially of little Frances playing with Finnian. The treatments Dr. Sullivan's been giving to Frances seem to be working tremendously. Frances's coughing fits have decreased, she barely coughs up blood (only thrice a day instead of five!), and the color in her cheeks swelled like that of pink roses. Frances looks so happy weaving flower crowns with the blonde-haired gardener, she imagined Finnian looked like a fairy prince of a spring court that Elsie has read about in some books of magic. A book written by an 1800's English magician named Jonathan Strange, who has traveled back and forth between the fairy Kingdoms. She read about this magician in her school library. Not that there were many books about English magic, but there were a few to catch her fancy.

There was something about walking with Ciel that made her feel at ease, like she didn't want to let go and be thrust into the world beyond. In his arms, it felt right. The world stilled and stopped its drama, and it felt right. Her sorrows and woes didn't distract her, and it felt right holding his arm. But she didn't know how to explain it any more than that. On account on other times she'd much rather prefer to chuck him across the room, or over the fountain in his own garden. She reasoned that she could, on account that she can carry 4 full pales of milk at once, walking uphill. An earl doesn't acquire that ability sitting at his desk all day.

Ciel's voice broke through the cacophony of the wind and water, but his voice sounded just as natural as a robin's chirp in an elder tree. A voice that belonged in this garden. A voice that commanded its attention like a king ruling a benevolent kingdom.

"I'm sorry to hear about your brother." Ciel said, sincerely. "He must have been such a beautiful boy."

"My mother described him as the light of her world. I only wish I could remember seeing his light and his joy." Elsie looked around the garden, and all it's flowers. "You must never get bored of this garden. I could walk around here for hours on end."

"In the sun and even in the rain?"

"Even in the rain."

"Well, while you have fun in the mud, I'll be other there sitting by the fire in my study. Dry and drinking a cup of hot chocolate."

"Ciel, you haven't truly lived if you haven't taken a stroll in the rain. Without an umbrella."

"To catch a cold!"

"The more adventurous the better."

"How daring you are! And whilst I'm warming myself by the fire, I'll be thinking of you Elsie and how you chose rain clouds and mud puddles over hot chocolate." Ciel shook his head, playfully, as if anyone could pass over a cup of hot chocolate. "Would it be too bold of me to ask for an answer now?"

"An answer to what?"

"The question I asked you the night at the opera. Oh Elsie, it happened not long ago. Should I ask it to you again to jog your memory?" He smiled.

Elsie's cheeks blushed, deeper than any pink rose growing in the garden. "I remember your question perfectly well, Ciel. I am sorry to say that I do not have an answer for you."

"Not today."

"Or tomorrow."

"Perhaps the day after."

Elsie shook her head.

Ciel pouted. "What about a kiss on Christmas day, out of a pity."

"Ciel, I didn't know you were the type to grovel. But I don't think a kiss solely out of pity is worth that much."

"Says the angel who knows not how her prayers reach thousands of ears. A few enchanting words make one's soul feel anew. Imagine what a single kiss would do to a man. Imagine what a kiss from you could do to me."

"I shan't think of its consequences." Elsie nudged his shoulder. "You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, weren't you?"

"Hm," Ciel mused. "Some tell me it was gold."

Elsie's laugh was better than the sound of a twinkling bell. She was all he could focus on, a brilliant star that shined in his eyes, the only star in the sky he could gaze upon for hours and hours. He wanted to map it, charter it, draw it, memorize its coordinates in the sky, and wish upon it from his bedroom window every night. He wanted Elsie. He wished upon the star for her and only her. He wanted to be her star in return, but as far as he could tell, if his star was anything like his soul. It would be dark and dull and fade into the midnight sky unnoticed and unseen.

"I want to thank you," Elsie said, smiling lightly at Ciel. Rays of sunlight caught in her hair. His breath caught. "Thank you for Dr. Sullivan's treatments for my sister. She is improving every day, happier and healthier."

"It's the least I could do for a friend."

Elsie smiled. "yes, for a friend."

Ciel coughed. This was going to be hard for him to say. "Elsie." He coughed once again. Correction, this was going to be very difficult.

"Yes."

"I wanted to tell you…" a flower petal landed on his shoulder and before he could lift his hand to swipe it off. Elsie did before him. She wondered why she was able to act so freely. But she held the lavender petal in her hands and twirled it in between her fingers before blowing it away with a soft whisper of her lips.

Ciel's heart practically wanted to leap out from his chest. Cupid was utterly cruel to him. How that winged baby enjoyed making him fluster and stutter and not act like his regular self. "I wanted to apologize." He said these words before he recognized their meaning.

"For?"

"For the hard time I've been giving you over the Cottingley fairies. During the walk in Cottingley meadows with my _unique_ guests, guests who I now regretfully brought with me at the time and everything else." Ciel spoke, languish. It was rare to hear the earl of Phantomhive apologize sincerely. It was equivalent to witnessing a miracle by a patron saint. Rare like a shooting star and largely unheard of presently.

"How long have you've known these _unique_ friends of yours?"

"No longer than you have. I had Sebastian acquire them the morning of my departure to Cottingley."

"I'm impressed he found that many on such a short notice."

Ciel was disappointed in the amount Sebastian produced. In truth he wanted triple the number of fairy enthusiasts, yet fairy enthusiasts who publicly proclaim their love for such creatures were scarce to come by on such short notice. Ciel had to make due with what he had.

"Your word was authentic, and I didn't believe you. You can't fathom how surprised I was when I found out fairies truly existed."

 _Me too_ , Elsie thought, truthfully.

"I mistook you for qualities that do not belong to you. The papers did not lie. You truly brought magic back to England."

"Oh no, you give me too much credit."

"Not at all. Now that I have the honor of knowing who you truly are, the honor of knowing of all the kindness and goodness in your soul, of the light and beauty in your eyes, of the sweet decadent laughter in your voice, I know that is the magic you have brought with you to London. I see that now. You are magic, Elsie." He held her hands in his, gently.

The smile on Elsie's face faded. How could she revel in the kindness Ciel's words spoke, when Elsie knew she was all lies? Her sister now distrusted her, and she didn't have the heart to tell Ciel the photographs she took were really a lie as well. But she couldn't tell the truth because there are now real fairies flying throughout London, and that there is currently proof in Ciel's private study.

Suddenly, Elsie heard music. Wonderful sounding music! Upbeat and joyful music that made her instantly want to dance. Ciel heard the music too that piqued Elsie's curiosity. They walked further out of the garden and into the greater field of his estate in his domain, there were young boys and girls and ladies and gentlemen dancing in circles holding colorful ribbons, drinking ale and cider, and laughing along with the music of the band.

Because of the interview with the London Gazette, Ciel completely forgot about the May Day celebration in his domain. Farmers and craftsmen and all parted with their work for today and celebrated the pinnacle of spring.

A current of wind whooshed past the both of them, almost ushering them to take part in the merriment down below. The dancing was bright and merry and enticing.

Elsie grabbed Ciel's hand. "Let's go dance!"

Ciel's face lit up like a hot ember. He can't dance. He was the Queen's watchdog, earl of London's dark underground, but above all he was an awkward teenage boy that performed horribly in social circles and parties. He was excellent at looking gloomy in the corner of the room, but dancing in the center of it, well, he'd rather he thrown back into Cottingley river again. Which said a lot. "I-I can't."

"You weren't shy when you asked me for a kiss, but now you are shy when I ask you to a dance."

"These are two completely different things, I assure you. One involves making a fool of myself in front of you, and the other involves making a fool of myself in front of you and many other people."

"And whose opinion do you regard more highly?"

Ciel was at a loss of words, he was sure to say everyone's opinion, but maybe that wasn't the answer Elsie was looking for.

"The only opinion that should matter is your own."

"I knew that."

"Of course, you did."

"But I don't know how to dance." He looked at the villagers dancing happily to the music in the field. People were twirling and jumping and hopping and it all looked very complicated. It was like none of the dancing he has seen or learned in London's banquets and ballrooms. Nothing at all taught to him during etiquette lessons by Sebastian. He was at a loss of words, technically he was at a loss of steps. Nevertheless, he was at a loss at everything in Elsie's presence. His mind just seemed to melt into a giant puddle whenever he is around her.

"Then it would give me the greatest pleasure to teach you how to. If you would be so kind." She curtsied and extended her hand for him to take.

He did.

"Forewarning, but I may or may not step on your feet."

"Not a problem, Frances purposely steps on my feet when we dance together. She's become quite good at it too." Frances was also unapologetic about it. How Elsie adored her little sister.

"I admire her vigor."

"As do we all." Elsie placed Ciel's hands on her waist and hers on his shoulders. She told him to follow her lead and for the patron saints of May of spring he was able to do just that. They followed the rhythm of the music and of their own laughter. The heat of the sun blazed high above in the sky and soon they took refuge underneath the shade of a weeping willow tree. Ciel threw off his coat jacket unto the grass. The tendrils of soft branches swept past their skin and shoulders as they danced and danced. Soon, Ciel was becoming quite confident in his amateur dance abilities and decided to mimic one of the dance steps he's seen the villagers do.

He dipped Elsie.

More like he tried to dip Elsie. He didn't account for the amount of force he needed to apply and his necessity for upper arm strength in attempting this dangerously daring move. This move should be illegal for all the calamity it caused.

Ciel misplaced his steps and suddenly they were both rolling on the grass, laughing at their own clumsiness.

"I told you I don't know how to dance." Ciel laughed a hearty laugh in the green and yellow spring glass. Blades of grass tickled his nose and skin.

"It was better than most, honest."

"You're lying, I can see it in your smile."

"Better than some."

"I appreciate your honesty."

The wind shifted, and they stared into the other's eyes. Finally, it dawned on them the positions of their bodies and the distance between their lips.

They managed to control their wild breathes.

His looked down at her as his arms laid across her shoulder, tenderly stroking it. And hers caressed his cheek as she could feel the peach fuzz of skin and jaw and neck beneath her fingertips. She saw flesh of skin, of his chest, peek out from one of his buttons. A lock of his flew hung over his eye, she brushed it behind his ear and could feel his breath against her hand and how warm and cool it felt when he sighed.

Her heart rapped inside her chest, and so did his. A question dawned on Ciel's mind, but he wondered if he was too impatient to ask yet again.

Beneath the shade of the willow tree basked in the cacophony of the grasshoppers and wind and far out of reach for the May Day dwellers to see, Ciel's voice reached her and only her. His voice was only meant for her. "May I kiss you?" He asked, his voice tender and soft.

Elsie whispered a word that sent of shrill of pleasure through his spine. She said yes.

Ciel heard his and her breathing and nothing else of the world. They looked towards the other's lips. Pink and red and luscious and soft and knew that was all they wanted to taste against their own.

He lowered his head towards hers and she felt his bangs tickle her forehead and his nose touched her own and his breath mingled with hers.

It almost became unbearable without with his lips upon hers.

Then, the sweet release came. Tender and soft was the kiss. Tasting like fresh apples. Maybe even milk and honey. He held his lips against her, slightly ajar, parting and un-parting. Then he let go, and spoke in a ragged sort of breath, as if he was being pulled from a trance he did not want to awaken from.

"I fear that if a continue to kiss you, I won't be able to stop."

"Then don't stop." She whispered back into his lips and his mind couldn't find a reason to disagree. He ran his hand through her hair, to the back of her hand, down her back and she felt his grip on her waist and sighed when he pressed his lips against hers more boldly, more confidently, more passionately this time.

Elsie ran both of her hands on his back, feeling the curve of his muscles as she pulled him in, closing the distance between them. Until there wasn't one.

Ciel pulled back, barely, sucking in air, as if the pleasure of kissing has made his mind numb like dough that made him forget the simplest of acts such as breathing. Elsie heard his ragged breath intertwined with her own and felt her own mind melt, something she promised that she would never let herself do. Yet, we all break promises we meant to keep to ourselves, she thought as she stole a kiss from his lips that he let her steal, gladly. Sensations pulsed rapidly throughout their blood, as he sneaked his mouth towards the edge of her mouth then to her chin then to her neck. Which he found a lovely spot that made her moan quietly. He sunk his lips deeper into her skin. Wriggling. Pulsating.

Her neck tingled wherever he kissed, lightly then strongly then lightly again. Alternating between a pleasure that sent withering and aching desire for more of his touch.

It became a habit for them to forget to breath and come to a short stop as they gasped for air. Each waiting for the other to catch their breaths, listening and waiting for the moment to resume. For each moment they waited between these gaps were agony. This throbbing and tempting agony neither of them could live without. She pulled his face to hers and gave him her breath, from which he was revived once again. A hand trailed over his breast pocket of his shirt, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her hand against his flesh right there.

"Ceil," she spoke his name like it was candy and she sighed into his ear like it was poetry. The taste of her lips on his, on her skin on his, was nothing like the sweets he has ever eaten before. Neither would the sweets he has yet to taste compare to that of her. Her lips blossomed like a budding flower and he longed to lick the honey and nectar between the two as he opened his mouth a little and hers a little more, and tongues danced better than their feet ever could. Wet and rolling.

A sound escaped from his voice, one he has never heard of before, one he discovered he could make in the shade of a weeping willow true, one that Elsie pulled out of him. Their cheeks touched and pushed and caressed the other.

His hips rocked against her thigh and for a moment, Elsie became alarmed and pulled back.

"I'm so sorry." Ciel stammered out quickly, he could feel the heat of his skin fuming behind his clothes. And when he imagined it could have been the same with Elsie's as his eyes wandered down her chest and waist and adored her supple curves. He pulled back. "This isn't how a gentleman should behave."

He prompted himself against the bark of the willow tree, running a hand over his face. Embarrassed for what he has done. Ashamed for what his mind wanted him to do next. Though, he reasoned that it wasn't his head that dictated his actions. Not that he was reasoning or thinking at all while mindlessly kissing Elsie. A mindless act he didn't mind as so long it was with her. No one has ever made him so mindless before. Ciel didn't realize how much power Elsie subconsciously had over him.

But above all, he was guilt ridden.

"You've done nothing wrong," Elsie said. She could feel her cheeks fading and resuming their natural color.

"I have."

"Do not feel ashamed of a few kisses." Elsie wondered if she was the one being too bold here.

"No, they were beautiful gifts. The best I have ever received."

She turned her head away and smiled bashfully, blushing again. "Then what is wrong?"

Ciel breathed. "I am betrothed to another."

It was heartbreaking to see the smile crumbling on her face. How it instantly faded and withered in just under five words. How he tried to hold her hand in his, but she shied away. No, she despised his touch and the memory of her heart aching as it does now in her chest will always be remembered as she gazes upon sad, weeping willow trees.

Elsie will tell her theoretical future children to never trust a one-eyed earl or willow trees. They are both two-faced and nothing good could come from them.

Elsie spoke stoically, "so all this time you were courting me while you were engaged to your fiancé? Was this all a fun game to you?" Her voice rose. "I heard nobles enjoy the pursuit of the hunt rather than the catch at the end." Then her voice softened to that of a whisper, laced with sadness. "You are in love with another."

"No, Elsie, you are the my one and only. Believe me." Ciel countered. "I am not like those men. You are the first girl I have ever fallen in love with. I love you."

"Oh, now you say you are in love with me after you tell me you have a fiancé? Did you say that to your fiancé as well, wait, does she know of your true feelings? Or is that something all scalawags say to their mistresses." Maybe he said the same words to his fiancé under this very tree. Lies and deception were all around her. She thought his kisses were full of love, but they were really empty and hollow and cruel. It was becoming sickening. Was it customary to break a commoner's heart under a weeping willow too? Elsie couldn't imagine the heartbreak his fiancé must feeling, knowing her true love in the arms of another. The dirty betrayal. The disloyalty! It enraged Elsie knowing Ciel willingly courted her, but also that Elsie blindly accepted him.

By the end of the day there would be two very, very unhappy and ill-tempered young ladies in London. Also, by the end of the day the young gentleman to cause such unhappiness will most likely need another eyepatch. Your guess is a good as mine that he should make a dashing start and run for the hills. Yet, he did the unthinkable and justified his mistakes.

"My fiancé, Elizabeth, and I have known each other since we were children and the idea of marriage, a political alliance, was simply arranged by both of our parents when we were little. Neither of us had a say in the matter. If I was given the choice I wouldn't wish to marry my first cousin."

"But you do now." Elsie yowled. "You have a choice who to love now. You say marriage is a political alliance, but your heart is not dictated by contracts or alliances or rules. Love knows no bounds." Oh my god. He was engaged to his cousin!? Elsie heard that noble and rich families tend to marry within their own noble and rich families. She heard it was because they didn't want to give their money to outsiders and to protect their interests, so the strawberry noses and habsburg jaws were inconsequential in their eyes. Elsie even heard that Queen Victoria's children and grandchildren suffer from hemophilia, as a result of inbreeding.

Elsie pushed herself off the ground and counted her blessings that she wasn't born of noble blood.

"Elsie, please wait." Ciel spoke wildly for her to look back at him. She didn't. "I do not plan to marry her. I was going to call off the engagement before any more wedding preparations progressed."

"I beg your pardon Earl, but my eyes must have deceived me when I saw back in your study, who I now know, is a wedding planner. I have yet to receive an invitation to your own wedding. Will I be seated in the front or back of the chapel? I wouldn't have even known about your marriage if you didn't tell me just so. Were you planning to tell me that you are happily wed after the wedding reception or the honeymoon? Both seem ill times to reveal such news to a lowly, common girl. Don't you think?"

"I have been the one avoiding these preparations the most of all. How can I marry someone I do not love, when my true love is standing right here before me? You say my heart is free to choose who to love regardless of alliances that I am continuously fed up with. Then marry me Elsie Wright!"

Elsie stopped in her tracks and looked back. Well, she scowled back. And glared like a demon.

Dear Lord, whatever Ciel said he shouldn't have said it. Did marriage proposals upset ladies?

She tossed whatever she could find to throw at the insufferable young man. Handfuls of grass and weeds and finally this poche jacket coat. She flung it right in his face and stomped off, infuriatingly.

She didn't want him to see her with tears in her eyes.

For a long while, Ciel mindlessly sat underneath the shade of the weeping willow tree and contemplated all the reasons why he was an idiot. All his reasons could fill up Cottingley river, a river he was convinced he should drown in as soon as possible.

* * *

Misery does not complement a lady at all. Yet, when Elsie wore it, it seemed refined in her scowl and elegant in the way she trotted bitterly past the happy dancers of the ongoing may day celebration.

Ribbons of blue and pink and green and yellow blew through the breeze attached to may poles. She heard the band which comprised up of fiddlers and drummers, and there was even a bagpipe.

Elsie sat down on a tree stump and hunched over. Worry and doubt and anger weighed down upon her shoulders and it was becoming too much to bear. She was surrounded by happy villagers' dancing to happy songs surrounded by even more happy villagers dancing ever so happily. She regretted the fact that she let Ciel into her heart, and for that one moment, she enjoyed giving it to him.

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she continued to wipe them away. Were all men like this? Do they say these delightful thoughts and fancies to get what they want? Was that all Elsie was to Ciel, a passing fancy to distract his mind before he became a married man?

Tommy wasn't like that.

Finally, Elsie made up her mind.

How dare he! Elsie stood up straight like an arrow. She was done with men. Through with them for the rest of her life. She was going to grow up to be an old spinster and not give a care in the world for men or marriage. Who needs a man to be independent? Elsie could do that all by herself. And if that doesn't work, she will join the convent and devote the rest of her life to God. Sisters of the faith are treated very well in the monasteries and lived their lives without men, and that sounded perfect to Elsie's predicament at the present moment.

Just when Elsie was deciding upon her new convent name (she was debating between Sybil and Esmerelda), a hand appeared in front of her. Attached to the hand was a finely tailored suit then to that was the face of a man who wore an enchanting smile and emerald green eyes.

He spoke with a thick Gaelic accent. "Who was the fool who made a beautiful girl sit by herself and left her without a dancing partner?"

"He was more than a fool." Elsie muttered under her breath.

"Then his foolishness is my blessing. For he has given me the chance to ask you for a dance."

Elsie shook her head, sluggishly. "I am not in the mood for dancing. I danced my share enough for the day."

The man hummed, bashfully. "My dear, I saw the tears that fell from your eyes only a moment ago. And though those tears are diamonds on your cheeks they do not compare to your smile. Who gave you the displeasure of casting a shadow on your radiant beauty? Whoever makes a lady cry is no friend of mine."

Elsie smiled, barely. "You are very kind, sir. But I'd hate to bore you with tales of love that was never really there."

The man sat down on the grass beside her, and he looked about himself, to his right and left. "There is a scoundrel afoot isn't there." He wrinkled his nose. "May day brings out the worst in people. Never really liked it."

Elsie laughed, lightly.

"My name is Rowan. Care to tell this scoundrel yours?" Although, he already knew her name. But he must hear it through her lips. She must say it to him.

"Elsie."

"In my homeland of Scotland, the name Elsie means 'pledged to God.'"

Elsie snorted, unironically. "A few moments ago, I was contemplating to become a Sister in a convent."

Rowan laughed with her. "Convents are old and stuffy, and you are none of those things. Please tell me your mind has since swayed away from joining one."

Elsie hummed, sweetly. "For now."

And soon she found herself spilling her woeful tale of love that wasn't really there to Rowan.

"So, let me get this straight," Rowan said. "This bastard, do you mind that I call him that, no, thank you, was leading you on while he was already betrothed to another. And their marriage is soon approaching, and he thought it was a good time to tell you now." Rowan shook his head, Englishmen weren't good enough for Elsie, neither was any human in this realm for that matter.

"Ciel thought he could play with my heart, but he shan't get the best of me." Elsie thought of also finding his finance and telling her that Ciel has been two-timing her. Not out of spite, but to warn this fiancé for the future. If Ciel cheated on her now, what will prevent him from cheating on her again in the future? Will Ciel's soon-to-be wife be plagued with constant worry and sadness that her husband remains unfaithful to her? No one deserves such betrayal. His fiancé's name is Elizabeth and that is the only clue she has.

"No one deserves to have their heart broken." Rowan agreed. "It leaves a horrible ache in your chest, and the question if anyone would ever betray you again weighs on you whenever someone tries to get close. You keep your heart guarded, shrouded by thorns, to prevent yourself from ever getting hurt again."

Elsie nodded her head. "You know what it's like then?"

"I wish I didn't have the unfortunate pleasure of knowing this dreaded curse called heartache." Rowan felt the wind and the air touch his skin and felt stronger because of it. "What if I told you there is a way for you to never bear that curse again, would you believe me?"

"I think all of England would love to know."

"Elsie," Rowan stared into her eyes, an earthly brown that reminded him of Scotland's moors. Brown mixed with red and orange, the colors of fire, the colors of his home. "I know it was you who took those pictures of the Cottingley fairies, and I know that they were faked. Very convincing to mortal eyes, I do say, you have a such an artistic eye. I cherish the fact knowing you honor the Fae Folk more than any other human I have encountered in this realm."

Her blood froze. Sweat creased her forehead, anxiously. Was this man going to tell? Who would he tell her secret too? There are already real fairies flying all over London, so it wouldn't make a difference even if he did tell. And what did he mean by realm?

Elsie looked at the dancers and her eyes shot open. She saw a girl who jumped in the air with her partner waiting to catch her with his arms wide open. They waited and waited and they stayed still in the air and their expressions remained the same. All the dancers were like that. There wasn't a ribbon that flapped in the wind nor young girls running through the fields with wild grass brushing past their legs nor were the birds flying through the spring sky.

Elsie stood up frightened. The world had frozen all except her and Rowan.

He stood up with her and stepped closer.

"Do not be scared. I wish you no harm." Rowan said, tenderly. "I've come a long way from the Otherworld to find you."

Elsie ran.

She ran past the frozen dancers and frozen girls and frozen birds. She dashed into the silent woodland. She did not hear the running of a river nor the creak of forest trees nor chipmunks scampering in their dens. Fear overtook her.

Elsie fell backwards in the dirt as a shadowy figured stepped in front of her wearing that smug smile on his face. Rowan. She was out of breath and her hair was wild from running fast, how did he outrun her whilst breathing so calmly as if he didn't even move a muscle and break a sweat?

"My dear," Rowan adjusted his cufflink, nonchalantly. "If we are to have a conversation, it's best if you stay in one place. But if you insist upon running whilst we talk, I do not oppose if this is human etiquette, but human ways are very much foreign to me and hard to understand. England especially. Though, I used to have been human myself, but I forgot those savage ways centuries ago. So, forgive me if I am slow regarding our cultural differences."

Human ways? Centuries ago? Elsie steadied herself and grabbed the biggest stick she would find. It was a hefty branch with twigs and leaves still attached to it.

Rowan eyed her from head to toe to stick, curiously. Oh, how long he has been away from the human realm to completely forget their ways. He doesn't remember this rule of greeting the other with a big stick. Rowan awkwardly grabbed a twig off the ground and waved it faintly in the air as if it were a flag.

Elsie narrowed her gaze at him, weirdly.

"Well," Rowan twirled the twig around in his fingers than tossed it back to the ground. He saw Elsie stare at the frozen birds eating worms in midair and squirrels stuck in place scaling up trees with acorns in their mouths. Frozen time bewildered her, and Rowan deemed that it was best to have a sane conversation with her without this distraction. So, he snapped his fingers and the world resumed as it once was.

Elsie jumped unexpectantly when time resumed, though Rowan thought the pausing and playing of time was indifferent. He assumed it was just a human thing to be startled by it.

Elsie didn't let go of her stick, she held onto it tightly. Rowan wondered if having a lady glare angrily at you and wanting to beat you with a stick was also customary. "What are you? What do you want?"

Rowan smiled and bowed his head. "I am Prince Rowan, son of King Gwyn ap Nudd and Queen Olwen, King and Queen of the Fae Folk (they _were_ king and queen of the fae, now they are dead, but Elsie didn't need to know that detail) I am heir to the royal thrown in the Otherworld in the realm of the Fae. I have embarked on a quest to the human realm in search of a bride to take the crown with me. And my quest was successful, for I have found you, Elsie."

Rowan stepped forward and Elsie swung her stick. He frowned. First running away from a royal prince and now swinging decayed branches at him. Human etiquette was becoming quite irksome. With a flick of his wrist, sparks flew out of Elsie arms and the giant branch she was holding was now nothing more than a flimsy piece of barley. It bent in her hand.

Worry struck Elsie's face immediately. Was the universe laughing at her this very moment? "I just told you I wanted to enter a convent! I do not wish to marry any man, not now, not ever, thank you!"

Rowan rolled his wrists at her silly little worry. "In fear of getting your heart broken?" He shooed away the thought. "If you become mine then I will love and adore and cherish you till the end of our days, which will last centuries might I add. No other mortal or Fae will take up my thoughts. If you become mine, then you will not need to worry about growing old and grey. You will stay young forever, you will never again feel pain or heartache, and you will be a queen loved by all her kingdom. Our kingdom. You will have a husband who will love you unconditionally and give you all that you desire, my precious Elsie." Sparks the color of the moon's rays glowed from his hands. " _Care to see a glimpse of what your life could be."_

Elsie was no longer in the woodlands of Phantomhive manor. She was standing on a balcony, the colors of platinum and pearl and white, overlooking a see of beautiful faces cheering and applauding and chanting her name as if it were a song. She looked down at her hands and her body and she was dressed in the finest of gowns and jewels, fashioned the colors of the midnight sky. She carried the stars of the sky, and her people wished upon her. Rowan stood next to her, with a crown made of silver branches on his head and the same one sat upon hers. She was in a different world she knew nothing of. This was the Otherworld, land of the Fae Folk.

His voice wobbled in this illusion, enchanting her mind. " _I will give you a life you never even imagined to be possible. See how our subjects love you here are at court. What fun you and I shall have together. Fae court will welcome you with open arms. There is magic in your soul, magic that is wasted and unrecognized in the human realm. You belong here with me. Where you were always meant to be."_

Elsie stared back into the crowd and only saw faces of strangers crowded among more strangers. She did not see her friends nor her family nor Frances. Home was where she sister was, not among some petty Fae Folk.

Elsie broke free from his illusion and gasped for air. Rowan looked down at his hands and wondered how she was able to do that. "I care not to be a Queen of your home. My life is here in Cottingley, in England. No one, no man, nor you can make me choose otherwise."

"I see." Rowan adjusted his cufflinks, slightly annoyed. He needs her to say yes to him. He's running out of time. He must become king! "You do not care for kingdoms or for gowns. You enjoy the humbler things in life. I see. That is very admirable. But whatever it is you want, I shall give it to you. A little birdie told me that your sister is ill. A sickness I hear that is uncurable in this age. I can heal her sickness, make her healthy and strong, and cast a spell that would enable her to be free of diseases and sicknesses for all her days. Would you like that Elsie?"

Another illusion appeared in front of Elsie. But this time, it was an image of the future. Pictures came into her vision. Cold. Sad. Melancholy. Elsie wore a black dress and a black hood surrounded by more people wearing the color black. Elsie lay hunched over a grave belonging to a little girl, crying miserably.

" _Frances will die young. Poor child."_ Rowan whispered. " _That is the future I foresee."_

"No!" Elsie reached out into the illusion, but it faded just as she touched it.

Suddenly, more pictures flooded her mind, except these were different. She saw Frances growing up healthy and strong just like Rowan said. Going to school, playing with friends, marrying, being a wife and mother and grandmother. Being a sister. He showed her a happy life for Frances. A full and plentiful and happy life for her little sister.

Tears swelled in Elsie's eyes, "Will this all come true? Will Frances be this happy and well?"

Rowan whispered into her ear. "Of course, she will, but only if you say yes to me. And the other future will come true if you refuse. But the choice is all yours my dear." Rowan got down on one knee and the vine in his hand twirled and curled into that of a ring, with a budding amethyst flower in the middle. It crystalized and shimmered underneath the warm and kind sun. "Leave this world behind and join me anew. Spring, summer, winter, and fall will forever adorn you. Be my Queen, and I your King. I am the moon and you are my sun. You give me light. You give me passion, for you are magic."

The choice was hers to make, he said to her, while France's life hanged in the balance of her choice. Her decision will change France's fate, to live or to die.

* * *

Ciel folded and unfolded his jacket in a mindless state while under the weeping willow tree.

The first thing to do was cancel the wedding preparations or stall them inevitably like he has done so many times in the past. But before making any cancellations he has to talk with Elizabeth, surely, she will understand. He wants her to have the opportunity of finding love, true love, that he has. The last thing he wanted to do was make Elizabeth unhappy, especially binding her to a loveless marriage. Elizabeth deserves better. She deserves someone who will adore her and look at her the way she looks at her favorite dresses. The way Ciel looks at macaroons… or the way he looks at Elsie, dotingly.

Ciel blew away a piece of fallen hair that tickled his nose. He closed his eye and for a moment all the expectations and rules and judgmental looks in his life faded away, and he was left with a quiet moment underneath the shade of the willow tree. He heard the tendrils of leaves and twigs shift in the wind, chimes of their own nature, and let his body succumb to the pleasures of relaxation. Something his body desperately craved for years. All he wanted to do was relax here.

A galloping sound broke through the cacophony of nature. Awaken from his rest, he saw a horse coming his way, with a rider on top of it. The rider's hair was the color of corn silk and Ciel imagined that the young man looked like an autumn prince of some fairy land.

The horse stopped, the rider descended, he walked straight to Ciel in a beeline.

What alarmed Ciel was not the stoic gaze of the boy's eyes nor his stature that spoke of defiance nor was it the gun at his side. Ciel has seen plenty of those and many in his direction. No, it was the fact that this boy dare tread on his domain thinking he could readily kill the Queen's Watchdog. Ciel not only regulated London's underground, he was London's underground. And a bullet, no matter how many, was not going to put an end to that.

Ciel recognized the boy as Tommy Hopkins, a dear friend of Elsie, and thought it was better not to ask him to convince Elsie to marry him. Ciel was not inept, he could read social cues, and now was not the time or place to ask for proposal advice.

Tommy placed his hand over his pistol, pulling it out.

Now was really not the time. Ciel wondered if one can love and still be cruel. He was stuck in a tight conundrum.

A gun was aimed.

The target was set.

A bullet reigned.

The throttling sound was followed by silence in the spring woods. Absolute silence.

* * *

 **Replies to reviewers:**

 **Tanaka-Chan: Hi! Thank you for the review :)**

 **P3: I'm happy you stumbled upon my story and found it entertaining! Thank you for all the kind words you said, it made me very happy! :)**

 **BBFan: Hi again XD Yay! I'm happy you enjoyed the chapter! Rowan is definitely a conniving fellow and I hope this chapter shed some light on his motives for obtaining power/becoming king according to fae law. I'm happy you enjoyed learning more about the fae folk and Elsie's inner turmoil and wanting to protect her sister! Sisterly love is really important to me and I hope I can convey that in this fic. Thank you for supporting the story XD**

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading chapter 9! I hope you guys liked it XD... and that little make out scene too (hohoho~)**

 **We learned more about the Fae in this chapter and Rowan's reason for pursuing Elsie (but why he came to the human world specifically, we will learn why later on ;D ) For a moment Elsie and Ciel's relationship progressed, but then regressed right after lol What do you think Elsie will choose, say yes to Rowan for him to save her sister, say no, or do you think rowan is even telling the truth at all? And did Tommy kill Ciel?! What did you think of the chapter, or what did you like the most? I'd love to read your thoughts in the reviews XD**

 **Thank you so much for the favs, follows, and reviews! ;A; *cries tears of joy***

 **See you guys next time! Bye!**


	10. Only Human

This chapter is dedicated to my friend Yui, my Fae princess *hearts*

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Only Human **

_Excerpt from the Fae Folk Book of Common Law_

 _III_

 _Just like humans, the Fae Folk die._

 _When the Fae Folk die, they become nothing._

 _Finally, their magic returns to the stars._

* * *

Sometimes, the most important decisions to effect one's life are the ones made in nothing more than a split second. They are the ones that can't turn back the wheels of time and change for one's convenience. They are constricted by the suffocating embrace of time. Limited to the options of to choose and to act. To act and to brace the threshold of one's consequences steadfast in the eyes, the portal to one's soul, the entry way to one's deepest and well-kept secrets.

Ciel wondered if he was any different from the mysterious Fae Folk. Mystical beings rumored to wield immense magic while not embodying souls, ethereal spirits trapped in beautiful and smiling cages. Ciel wondered, if he too, had a soul. Dwelling in London's underground had that effect on a person. Wondering whether one is past being human when they carry out one vile and putrid act after the other in the Queen's name. Nostalgia flooded his mind as he remembered the night when the trees burned red and the air was cold, and the manor house filled with all those kidnapped children burned to a crisp and the girl who once called him her friend came running to him with a knife in her hand determined to end his life. She was beautiful, like that of a doll, dressed to look happy and sweet and hide the wretchedness of deceit and suffering inside her soul. She came running to him, with a knife in her hand and tears in her eyes and hatred flaring on her tongue. He wondered, in that moment, whether she saw a soul in the boy he used to be or a cruel wolf in guise of a lamb.

He was hurting then at that time. Proof that he did in fact have a soul. Even if poison and the cruelty of the world tainted his heart. If beings are capable of feeling such pain and if they were forced by the world to become monsters to protect themselves from monsters, then Ceil did have a soul.

Ciel wondered what Tommy Hopkins saw in himself as the blonde-haired youth descended from his horse and aimed his gun at Ciel. Ciel couldn't help wondering what type of monster Tommy saw when Ciel pulled out a gun of his own and fired at the young man with corn silk hair. Ciel shot the young man who looked like an autumn prince and sent him tumbling down without stepping one foot out of the shade of the weeping willow tree.

The motion was so smooth. So poised and elegant. The way Ciel reached into his pocket where gentlemen keep their handkerchiefs and snuff boxes, or wads of cash with the queen's portrait tempting to throw it at their captives to distract them with money and make a run for it. No. Ciel didn't bother in any of these useless trinkets. He had no use for handkerchiefs. He had no use for snuff boxes. And he had no use to carry giant wads of cash. He had Sebastian Michaelis, and that was enough.

But one thing Ciel learned whilst living with a breathing demon is that it is not best to solely rely on them for every unfortunate event to come the earl's way. And unfortunate events were a frequent occurrence in Ciel's life. Sebastian taught these lessons well to Ciel, and lucky for him, Ciel was an excellent student and learned quickly.

A gentleman always takes a fashionable glance behind his shoulder. A good earl never leaves the manor unprepared. An excellent watchdog never takes two steps out of his manor without a gun.

Ciel also keeps a gun underneath the pillow on his bed, and another locked in a drawer of his desk in his personal study. These were the perks of being the Queen's watchdog. He didn't need a reason nor answer pestering questions for hording guns in his home. For god's sake, the Queen's guards are always armed, she keeps a knife tucked underneath her dress, and has an armory in her bathroom. Fashionably indiscreet right next to her vanity of bottled fragrances. Her knives and pistols lingered with the aroma of roses.

It was common knowledge for anyone who served the queen and garnered many enemies in her name never to be in or leave the safety of one's home unprepared or under-equipped. Ciel carried a derringer pistol hidden in the back pocket of his jacket. It was a small palm pistol that was a favorite among court ladies and assassins and disgruntled young earls under assassination threats by young men who look like autumn princes.

Smoke trailed where the bullet left the pistol and the spring woods were left silent from the shock of it. The cacophony of sounds resumed when Tommy collapsed to the ground, withering in pain on a bed of wild and pale wheat now tainted red.

The wind blew behind Ciel's shoulder, and a butler soon followed behind him. Ciel turned his head briefly and looked at his demon in disgust. "You were watching and waiting for me to act on my own." He adjusted his cufflinks, unbothered. "I _could_ have died, you know."

"Yes, but I see that there was no reason for me to interfere when the situation was under control in your care."

"It's amazing how little life means to you."

"Says the young man who shot the other."

"It was in self-defense."

Sebastian's gaze locked on the bleeding man in the middle of the field. The scent of blood and anguish captivated his senses. "The wound in not fatal. The boy still lives."

"It would seem that a shot to the thigh is anything but fatal."

"You sound disappointed."

"On the contrary, I'm rather pleased, I don't need another man dying on the grounds of my estate…again."

"It's not like we are running out of land to bury them."

Ciel narrowed his eyes and mocked a ridiculing laugh. "That is madness. We've never buried anyone on Phantomhive property. Incriminated, arrested, shot, emotionally butchered. Yes, we've done that. But never buried. Please, do I seem like that much of a monster to you? You say it so hopefully." He scoffed.

"I do recall that Sir Damian was able to escape the oven he set himself him in five years ago."

"What happened to the man that attempted to con me and failed?"

"Well, with scorched and broken limbs it is undoubtably hard to make a quick escape."

Ciel narrowed his eyes.

"He was limping and clawing his way down the rode away from the manor."

"He was a terrible business man, possibly he converted to life a piety to live amongst the monks."

"He was never heard from again."

"Monks live _very_ solitary lives. Many of which are never heard from again."

"Oh yes, as long as he dies like on a dog on someone else's property than it is no concern to us."

"As long as my name is attached, a problem like this will _always_ be my concern, unless they are taken care of appropriately." Ciel shook his head. "back to the problem at hand, this was an assassination attempt on my life and I will not have this go without the proper ramifications, a threat directed to the Queen's watchdog is a direct threat to Her Majesty Queen Victoria, this is a threat to the crown. I can name a happy few who would like to see me replaced by Her Majesty's side, though she wouldn't want me to name them outright since most of them are her many powerful Anglican supporters." Ciel was becoming tired of these assassination attempts. This was the third one to happen this year and it is only spring! Ciel wondered how many more failed attempts will happen till Christmas time. The year prior there were five attempts, so he was certain the number was going to double this time. He wiped a hand over his face, languidly. Ciel wondered what life it would be like to not constantly be a walking and handsome target for assassins. It was tiring.

"And how many would a happy few be, my Lord? I garner that all of London's underground and many more above ground would not constitute as a happy few. A bitter many, is more like it." Sebastian removed a glove from his hand and tucked it safely in his coat pocket. "Should I report this incident to the Yard?"

"As you are aware, I am not well liked by the Yard." Ciel titled his head, slyly. "Where is the proof? Where are the witnesses? There are none. It is my word against this boy's and your guess is as good as mine that the Yard will not be pleased by that. My acting in self-defense will be misconstrued and it will most likely be seen as yet another mishap to sully my name and potentially incriminate me once again, and how happy would they be to have another reason to thrust me behind bars. Remember the Sphere Music Hall Murders?" Ciel scoffed. "It took far too long to clear my name, of course I was innocent, how dare they treat me like a criminal for a crime I did not commit. Fools. All of them."

"Amazing that it was the rare chance you actually were innocent. I am still stunned."

Ciel feigned a smile. "They have never successfully convicted me of a crime I was guilty for. I am innocent." His smile faded immediately. "News will not break out about this attempt on my life if it is well kept. Find the noble responsible for this failed attempt and punish them behind closed doors. I don't want gossip. God knows how I detest it."

"Understood." Sebastian nodded. "this accident will not escape the grounds under no circumstances." This was not the only secret to be buried under Phantomhive land.

They walked up to Tommy and observed the site in front of them. Ciel breathed calmly as his hands laid behind his back, folded neatly one inside the other. Tommy's eyes were barren, and his voice was dry. Ciel ordered Sebastian to check Tommy's pockets to find any more weapons or other artifacts to incriminate the boy.

There weren't any.

Something clicked inside of Ciel when his eyes investigated Tommy's. Up close they were bleak and dull. The boy was still alive, but his eyes looked like that of the living dead. Sebastian kneeled down and cupped the boy's face in his hand, examining every angle. The fire in the demon's eyes burned. "My Lord. My greatest fears have come to pass. The assassination attempt on your life was not made by an English nobleman."

"Explain."

"These eyes." Sebastian stared into Tommy's clear blue eyes that reflected the English sky. His voice was gruff, swelling with bitterness. "I've seen them before on the eyes of mortal's centuries ago. This dear boy is under an enchantment of a Fae, magicked against his will to carry out the biddings made by the caster. Now, he is nothing more than a moving plant. Forced to carry out the caster's bidding until he has accomplished his task. He has been stopped for the moment, but the enchantment won't wear off until he succeeds in ending your life."

Ciel arched his brow, unperturbed. "Fae have the power to take away another's free will? Hm. They are more similar to humans than I originally thought. Can this enchantment be broken?"

"The enchantment would have been broken if the boy successfully ended your life, but alas, you are still breathing."

"What a sad day for all those happy few." Ciel smiled a crooked smile. "Under whose command can this enchantment be broken? According to Belasis and his work _The Paradox of Spell Casting,_ a spell may be broken in two ways: it can be broken by the one who cast the spell, or by one of equal or greater power than the one to cast it."

"You've been reading up on the works of English magicians from three hundred years ago."

"Magic is a popular subject to have over swept England. It would be ill of me to ignore it's influence." Magic was a topic that resurfaced in popularity among English subjects, and books that spun tales on magic were the ones the to fly off the shelves at book shops the fastest and had to be restocked weeks in advance. Book sellers couldn't have been happier.

"What are you suggesting?"

"It is in your power. I know it is. I command you, I order you, to break the enchantment."

Sebastian knew that if he was ordered to carry out the will of his young master, then he knew it was his duty to succeed. "And if I were to fail breaking the enchantment?"

"I wouldn't have asked if you were incapable of a such a feat."

Sebastian smiled. "Of course."

It has been so long since Sebastian dabbled in Fae magic. He did not have the blood of Fae, he had the blood of a demon, and demons have their own type of dark magic that tackles that of the Fae. Sebastian can't cast spells, but he can break them. This was another reason why the two kinds of magical beasts despise each other. They are each other's unraveling. The demon lifted his hand over Tommy's eyes. The mark of the contract illuminated on his hand. Wisps of purple and black flared venomously seeping past the lines of his skin. The afternoon light waned weakly in comparison to the glow of the mark of the beast. The menacing aura from the demon frightened the horse away as it galloped briskly out of the wheat field. Suddenly, Ciel hissed as pain radiated through his right eye. He clenched his hand over the throbbing sore and kept his mouth shut. Hissing at the butler to condemn him to unprecedented pain.

"My apologies." Sebastian said without a hint of remorse. "The Fae who casted the spell wields strong magic, I need every last bit of strength I can manage."

"So, you steal bits of mine."

Sebastian smiled. "borrowed, my Lord." Sebastian titled his head back towards the sky and parted his lips. The wind filled his lungs, then he released it with a quiet and low sigh. The mark on his hand soon lost its luster and began to fade. A sudden gasp escaped Tommy's lungs and he breathed with new life once again. The boy looked at the world as if he was away from it for far too long, as if he has forgotten the beauty of the sky or the wind's music whistling through the spring woods or the way the horseflies scatter over the grasslands, but it was his first time seeing the young earl with the butler clad in black. Something inside of Tommy told him that he wasn't safe, he just didn't know why he should have been afraid, but even so, he was very afraid.

"Who are you? What is going—aahh." Tommy rasped in pain as his hands trembled holding the bleeding wound to his thigh. Sweat began to matt his brow and his breathing became erratic, infused with pain. His chest heaved up and down. He pulled his hand away from his wound, realizing that it was covered with blood. "You've done this to me."

"Nothing eludes you, just splendid." Ciel feigned a smile. "Sebastian, take our honored guest back to the manor and treat his wounds accordingly. He looks pale, hungry, and pathetic." Ciel muttered the last word under his breath. "I have so many questions to ask you Mr. Hopkins. I need you alive and well and it would be a shame if you were to…" Ciel lowered his gaze towards Tommy's grimacing wound then back the boy's eyes, "leave us so suddenly." Ciel turned his head, coldly. "Sebastian."

"Which room will our honored guest be staying in?"

"In the room he _deserves_ , of course." Ciel waved his hand, briefly. "You know the one."

"Ah yes, he will be very comfortable _there_."

Tommy looked at Ciel then to Sebastian and back again, skeptically. Whatever room they were planning to put him in made Tommy want to stay in the field of wheat he was currently bleeding in. Tommy weighted his only two options heavily. He chose the wheat field.

Just as Sebastian went to help up the injured boy, Tommy shirked back in shock. It was a natural reaction, seeing as though Sebastian is a demon and anyone with such knowledge would react in that way, but Tommy didn't know where he was, what he was doing here, and why he was inflicted with a bullet wound in his leg. His mind was a haze of confusion and there were gaps in his memory. One moment he was helping Madame Dauphine with paperwork back at the bank and the next he was bleeding in a field of wheat. Ever since he started working in London strange things have been happening to him, although this was the first life threatening one. Maybe he was never meant to be a banker.

Tommy saw the mark of the contract on the butler's hand and froze.

Sebastian covered it up. His expression began to darken as he gazed into the woodlands, at the low branches and brushwood and the crows circling among the tips of the trees. The butler's voice was low and grave. His eyes scorched a burning red. He spoke to his master without averting his gaze. "The one who planned your assassination dares to tread on your domain. With your permission, I would like to acquaint myself with them."

The same look crossed Ciel's face. "Permission granted. Do show them Phantomhive hospitality." No one threatens the Queen's watchdog and get's away with it.

And just like a whisper, fast and fleeting, Sebastian was gone.

The two boys were left in the field of wheat amongst their own accord. Ciel sighed as he looked out into the field. The horse was gone.

"Come." Ciel held out his and towards Tommy. "Let me take you to my manor."

A long moment passed. Eventually, Tommy grabbed a hold of Ciel's hand and balanced himself while he leaned on Ciel's shoulder. "Thank you."

"The walk from here to the manor is short. Do you think you can make it?"

Tommy sucked in his breath and mumbled that he could.

Slowly but surely, the two walked gently through the grasslands and towards the manor house. Ciel was no longer the frail boy he used to be years ago, he was strong, and had enough strength to carry half of Tommy by his side. The sun blared on the two, it was warm and bright.

"There wasn't something right with me." Tommy said after a few moments walking in silence together. "I haven't been thinking clearly after I left London. I felt like I was seeing the world through someone else's eyes, a pair of lenses that weren't my own. I was just watching the world happening around me, not reacting to it." He breathed. "I was no longer me. Whatever your butler did to set me free from that state, thank you."

"Thanks, isn't necessary, I assure you."

"Although, you didn't need to show me anymore _Phantomhive hospitality_." Tommy limped slowly. "When my mother receives visitors at home she just offers them biscuits and brandy."

"Well, the kitchen is supplied with plenty of those. Especially brandy."

"Aye, there better be." Tommy winced as the pain in his leg seared through him. He was going to need a doctor to stop the bleeding and remove the bullet. He was also in desperate need of several large cups of brandy to numb the pain away. Maybe even a whole bottle.

* * *

"My darling, Elsie." Rowan kneeled. Holding the amethyst ring what was once a wildflower in his hand. "You can be a Queen of a world you have only dared to dream of and save your sister in the process. Why, so many before you have fought to rule my kingdom, so much blood was spilt in their hopeless attempts, and all you have to do is say yes." He laughed, lightly.

Elsie stepped back. "You promise all these luxuries in turn for my answer, but I can only see deceit and lies hidden in your eyes."

Rowan laughed, mockingly. "Are you afraid to tie yourself into a loveless marriage? I heard that is a frivolous concern to young women in this time period. I assure you that I will provide you a life, centuries, of unconditional happiness that you cannot compare to an arranged marriage with a country bumpkin."

"I wouldn't want to anchor myself into a marriage where my husband does not listen to what I have to say. You hear my words, but their meaning does not resonate with you." A twig snapped under Elsie's boot. She was going to make a run for it. "My answer, Rowan, is no. Respect it."

She ran.

And just as she turned a tree he was there. Rowan grabbed her wrist and pulled her into him. She could feel his breath on her face. It was revolting.

Her breath hitched, terrified. "What kind of monster are you?"

"Weren't you listening, my dear? Maybe it is the wives who should listen more to their husbands. I am Prince Rowan, son of King Gwyn ap Nudd and Queen Olwen, heir to the throne. You, my dear, are destined to be my queen, my wife." His grip tightened around her wrist. "I will take the throne."

"If the throne is your only corner then why do you want me? I am only human."

"My dear." Rowan stroked her cheek. Elsie flinched from the unwelcome touch. "You _are_ only human, and _that_ is precisely what I need."

A mocking laughed sprang from the woods.

"My, my," Sebastian hummed. A flock of crows spiraled through the trees, revealing a demon inside of them. Rowan turned his head towards the disgusting sight and hissed. "This the first time in centuries to lay my eyes on one of the Fae Folk." He laughed under his breath. "They are as ugly as I remember."

"I can say the same of you, demon." Rowan hissed as he guarded Elsie. He needed her alive, not dead. Demons are unpredictable and so was their hunger.

A black after image, black as a shadow, left a halo of darkness where Sebastian once stood. Now, only a patch of mold and a rotting log stood in the way between him and Rowan. Sebastian stepped forward, Rowan stepped back. Sebastian smirked and mocked a slight bow of his head. "With humble greetings I welcome you to Phantomhive Manor. My master, whom is alive and well after your failed assassination attempt, wishes me to greet you with the family's proper hospitality."

The Phantomhive boy is still alive? Rowan hissed under his breath. Never leave a Fae's job to a mortal boy. Next time when Rowan wants Ciel Phantomhive dead, he will have to do it himself. It wouldn't be long before he has the dreaded boy under the earth covered with a blanket of daisies.

Sebastian reached into his coat pocket and pulled out silver knives. They came hurtling in Rowan's direction.

Fast as the roaring wind, Rowan opened the palm of his hand and the knives thrown in his direction turned into that of delicate wild flowers that floated onto the patches of mold on the dirt ground.

Sebastian sighed, displeasured. Those were the kitchen's finest butter knives. "Parlor tricks can't save you for long."

"You shouldn't involve my wife in such matters." Rowan roared.

"I am not your wife." Elsie retorted.

Rowan rolled his eyes. Sure, technically, Elsie wasn't his wife…yet. "A minor inconvenience."

Another after image followed Sebastian's form. Where was the butler to appear next?

Elsie felt an arm around her waist. Soon she was hoisted in the butler's arms. He smiled at her. "Forgive me, Miss Elsie, but my master's business solely involves this gentleman, whom I take has overstayed his welcome with you."

Elsie nodded, sheepishly.

"Forgive me once more, for I cannot allow you to get hurt." Sebastian placed a hand over her eyes and suddenly the world began to fade and turn dull. The girl fell asleep in the arms of the butler, and he set her down under the shade of an old oak tree. Sleeping upon a bed of white daisies.

"This does not concern you, demon." Rowan roared. "Leave the girl to me and I will spare your life."

Sebastian adjusted the collar of his suit, it became untidy. "I have no interest in the peculiar ways of the Fae, and neither do I have an interest in a silly little human girl, unlike you. But my master is fond of her and she shall not be harmed, but you." The fire in his eyes flared menacingly. "You threatened the life of my contractor, and for that you will pay dearly."

Sebastian came fast to Rowan, his fist slammed into rowan's chest with the force of an earthquake, sending the foolish prince straight into the woods, toppling down trees in the process. Rowan skidded off the ground, leaving a trail of destruction in his path. If Rowan was human, he would have been dead from the demon's attack. But Rowan was not human, he had the blood of the Fae flowing through his veins.

He stood up and brushed the dirt and broken wood chips off his suit. "Is that all?" Rowan questioned smugly. Soon he was the one on the offensive, he wisped his form behind Sebastian's and struck him in the side.

The butler grabbed a hold of Rowan's wrist and hurled him into the ground leaving a lovey hole from the impact. The trees shook from the battle.

" _redire ad pristinum_ ," Rowan called these words from his grimoire book. The grass and leaves and the old oak trees trembled from these words. He was casting on a spell on Sebastian.

The butler was lifted off his feet and an air of black smoke surrounded him, suffocated him. His human form began to melt, this eyes and mouth and nose and every other peculiarity belonging to that of a human began to dissipate. Rowan was forcing Sebastian to revert to his original form.

Rowan bellowed, "You pretend to be human. Let the world see you as you really you! A damned creature feasting off the innocence of life!"

The smoke encircled Sebastian into a tight ball. The ball began to crack and beneath those cracks were a thousand bulging eyes. All on Rowan. Finally, it burst. Revealing the demon's true form. Hideous and revolting, but it wasn't the first time Rowan saw such a monstrous creature. Ugly as they were, they were very powerful, and his guard mustn't be let down.

Sebastian was nothing more than a tail of a serpent and the hide of a wolf and the carcass of rotting eyes and sharpened teeth. He wrapped his form around rowan like that of snake and constricted his hold. Tightening his grip and smothering the young Fae. Draining the life out of him. Rowan suffocated on his words, unable to cast a spell.

Rowan was revolted. Sebastian felt pleased with himself.

"What a pity." Sebastian yowled. "You say you are the son of King Gwyn ap Nudd and Queen Olwen, heir to the throne in the realm of Fae. But you are nothing more than the favored foster brother to Prince Arawn, the true heir to the throne. You are nothing, but an impure Fae born of human blood with magic fused into your veins. I heard it was Prince Arawn himself that turned you into one of the Fae. You were a court servant that soon became his brother no, you became his favorite little pet. Following him around like a dog does to his master. But now prince Arawn, with legitimate claim to the throne, is dead. The only one to love you in a court full of liars and cheaters and murderers is dead. Some say you killed him to rise from your pathetic station of favorite pet to become king. I doubt it is false."

The demon's vile energy consumed Rowan, he felt the poison of the beast seep through his skin and into his heart. He mustered out the words, "you think you know everything, but you know nothing." He spat in one of the demon's eyes.

"I know nothing? on the contrary, demons love gossiping as much as humans do, I believe I know as much or even more than the lowliest of my kind! Your presence was only tolerated in court because he saw you with respect and admiration and love. Nothing that the king or queen or court members gave you. Your claim to the throne is weak and illegitimate. That is why you need a bride. To secure your claim before it is stolen from you, by a pure blood no less. But why marry a human? Yes, that question is still fresh in my mind. Marrying a human presents you with little power while you only have to gain by marrying a Fae of pure blood. Ah! perhaps it is because a pure blood refuses to taint their blood with an impure?"

Rage flooded throughout Rowan's veins, and fire through his hands and fingertips. He heard the demon recoil in pain, release his grip, and slither away. Rowan stared at the demon's true form which had so many eyes. He wondered what all those eyes can see. Truths. Secrets. Lies.

Rowan dropped to the ground and pain seared through his right arm. There was blood. And lots of it.

Sebastian's true form came back slowly but surely. He was the embodiment of everything a butler should be and more. He was everything English men aspire to become. Sebastian only looked human. There were no flaws in his illusion. He presented himself as being perfect. Therefore, he was perfect to human eyes.

He looked down on Rowan reveling in the Fae's loss and humiliation. "How pitiful, prince Rowan." Sebastian smiled, mockingly. "You are strong, but if you were to battle me at night you stood a stronger chance at winning. You draw your power from the moon, and your older brother drew his power from the sun. What a shame, that your powers rely on the reflection of another. The moon may shine bright at night only because the sun is so gracious to share its light." He spat out the words distastefully like sludge. "The moon's light is only weaker and paler in comparison to the noble and ever burning sun."

Rowan winced. _The moon is not weak. For it has the power to shine upon our darkest hours and spread the light of hope into our hearts._ Arawn's words suddenly took hold of his mind. "I embody the power of the moon." Rowan's lips trembled. "I am not weak."

Sebastian leaned forward and whispered into Rowan's ear. "Then why is it that you lay at my feet, instead of I?"

Rowan mustered the last of his strength and chose to wisp away from the demon. Out of sight. Alive.

Sebastian hummed to himself. He shouldn't have toyed with is prey for so long, his master will not be pleased. But! It was time to head back the manor with Miss Elsie who happened to still be sleeping on the bed of daisies, unharmed.

He carried her back to the manor in his arms and thought to himself what he should prepare for dinner for there will be many guests to feed. Roast pigeons with a boiled potatoes and carrots garnished with rosemary and thyme. Yes. That sounds quite right.

The dinner guests will savor every flavor.

* * *

The wind thrashed in the spring woods where Rowan appeared.

He dropped to the ground panting, out of breath, holding his wound tight to his body. The coolness of the blades of grass touched his skin. There is only so much magic left inside of him, he needs to heal his wounds and escape the Phantomhive domain immediately. He saved what's left to heal his wounds. He pressed his hand against his arm and chanted ancient spells to remedy his pain.

Suddenly, he flinched.

A shadow jumped between the trees. Hiding and running.

Rowan didn't have any strength left in his legs to run away. If the demon pursued him, Rowan will not be alive at nightfall. His muscles tensed. Blood pumped through his veins. He summoned fire in his hand and made sure to aim for the perpetrator's heart.

The shadow emerged from the woods.

Rowan relaxed his shoulders and let them sag. The fire in his hands dwindled from flames to embers to sparks then to nothing in a quick gesture. In one moment, he carried the sun in the palm of his hand, in the next moment, it left his hand cold and empty.

A little faun jumped out from the woods.

"Master Rowan! Are you hurt!? I'm so sorry for not coming to your aid sooner!" He was small and frail like that of a child. His hooves knocked against the stones of the forest and his ears whipped up and down frantically as he went to his master's side. The faun wore a red scarf around his neck. A scarf that was old and tattered, and the ends were frayed, but it was the only gift he ever received in his entire life, given to him by Rowan. How he cherished it. This little faun goes by the name Theriot, and he is Rowan's most trusted servant. Well, he is also Rowan's only servant. "It is all my fault!"

"Theriot, I should have known better than to battle a demon during the hours of the sun. The hours of the moon," Rowan hesitated. "Is when I am at my strongest. I was too impatient to wait until nightfall. The fault is mine to blame, not yours."

Tears swelled in Theriot's big, round eyes, the color of emeralds. He clasped his hands together and cried. "I am undeserving of your kindness, but look on the bright side, at least you were to secure the human girl's hand in marriage. That it wonderful! Just wonderful!"

"Theriot."

"Look what I found in the London town shops!" Theriot, too preoccupied to listen to his master, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small treasure chest the size of his hand and when he placed it on the ground, the chest expanded into ten times his size. The little faun opened the chest and leaned inside, his hoofs dangled off the edge. From the chest he pulled out a white laced veil that stretched on and on, he placed it over his head and twirled around giggling. "I heard a woman in London say that a bride cannot get married without a veil!"

Rowan's eyes widened as Theriot pulled out more bridal veils from the chest. Many were white, and others were pastel like pink and blue and green. Theriot was practically swimming in a sea of pretty veils.

"Theriot." Rowan groaned. "You went into town without my permission. That is not what we agreed on."

Theriot stopped making veil angels in the pile of lace and jumped up excitedly. "Need not to worry! No one saw me! I even paid for the veils like good English people do."

Rowan wasn't concerned with the price, but he asked anyway.

"I'm not sure." Theriot answered honestly. "But beautiful veils ought to cost very much, so I left ten shining rubies in each of their place!" Theriot traced his fingers over the intricate patterns, tenderly. There were so many beautiful things in the human realm. "I hope that was enough for such pretty things."

"That was more than generous, Theriot." More than necessary, actually.

Theriot smiled, his cheeks were rosy, and his eyes gleamed like true emeralds. "I'm happy you think so! Where is your bride? I hope she likes these veils for the wedding!"

"Theriot."

"Hm," Theriot hummed. "Can a bride wear more than one veil to her wedding? But they are all so beautiful! Maybe she can wear them all!"

"Theriot." Rowan groaned.

Theriot trotted behind the trees and rocks and scampered over the little hills, jolly. "Where is your bride to be? I don't see her?" The faun sucked in a deep breath in his lungs then yelled, "PRINCESS! I HAVE PRETTY VEILS FOR YOU!"

"Theriot!" Rowan half yelled, half whispered. The faun stopped in his tracks. His ears turned downward, and he pouted his rosy cheeks. Bouvardia white flowers settled on his red hued hair. He waited for Rowan to speak. "I asked for her hand in marriage."

Theriot leaned on the tips of his hooves. "And she said yes?"

Rowan shook his head.

Theriot frowned.

"I can always try again, and maybe next time I won't freeze time." That seriously freaked Elsie out.

Theriot began to whimper.

"No, no, Ther—" Rowan reached his hand outward, the faun began to whimper louder and louder. "Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. Please, don't cry. I beg of you. Don't-"

Theriot was crying a river. His wails caused the birds in the trees to scatter away from the high-pitched wails. Tears the size of cherries dripped down Theriot's cheeks and created ever growing pools of water around his hooves, and Rowan's shoes. "That means you won't get married."

"Well, not yet. There is still a chance."

"And then you'll have to spend the rest of your days being lonely and miserable and grumpy!" The tears came down harder than before.

Rowan sat there, silently. Holding in his tongue.

"If you can't get married that means you can't ever become king and that means you won't ever have the power to wake up Prince Arawn from his eternal slumber!"

"Theriot!" Rowan pulled the crying faun by the arm towards him and whispered under his breath. "No one knows that Arawn is still alive. Everyone at court and even that wretched demon thinks my brother is dead, that he died a long time ago from his sickness."

Theriot sniffled. "But he didn't die."

"Yes, I know. But that is a story we don't need anyone questioning. There are too many of the high Fae that believe _they_ should take the throne. If they knew of Arawn's current condition and where he is, there is no telling how many will try to stop him from awakening, permanently. The day when I become king, infused with power from the holy green well, is the day I will have enough power to release Arawn from his entrapment." Rowan sighed, deeply. "That will be the day I get my brother back, and the Otherworld will once again have their favored prince on the throne. Understand?"

Theriot nodded.

"Good." Rowan let go of the little faun's arm. Theriot held unto his arm, pretending that it didn't hurt. "Now, take all these veils and head back to the cottage and I need you to write back to my advisor telling him that I will be returning home to the Otherworld with my bride shortly."

"But," the faun mumbled. "She has already said no to you and I heard English women were very stubborn in their decision making. I doubt she'll say yes if you ask her a second time."

"…I'll think of something."

Theriot packed up his trunk of pretty veils and scampered back into the woodlands, hiding beneath the brushwood and thickets. Leaving Rowan alone to heal his wounds in solitude.

For a moment, Rowan closed his eyes and felt that the world was changed. He could feel it in the water. He could feel in the earth. He could smell it in the air. In the forests of this world. In the sighs of the wind. Once upon a time, he was born into this realm. He was born a human.

For a moment, Rowan let himself succumb to his senses, to the cacophony of nature. He used to remember the sound of water dripping from leaves, water running down streams, of toads croaking in the marshes. Exploring through Scotland's marshes to look for toads was his favorite game when he was a child all those centuries ago. There was a time when he remembered all of these nostalgic sounds in Scotland. He lived and breathed the human realm air and it filled his lungs, bountifully.

For a moment, he pretended that he was human again. A faint smile caressed his lips, there a joy in that fleeting thought. To be only human and nothing else. He wasn't a Fae of pure or impure blood. He was only human.

A twig snapped.

Alarmed, Rowan opened his eyes. Then he released his breath that he unknowingly held in and thought to himself that it was only Theriot. The faun probably came back to ask an important question he didn't think only of until he departed for his journey back to the cottage, or the little faun forgot how to get back to the cottage altogether.

The bushes trembled slightly, and Rowan cocked his head to his side. Theriot might as well come out now, there was no point in stalling. Maybe his hoof is wedged in-between two rocks.

Rowan moaned, barely. "Come out. I know you are there."

He expected his little servant to come hopping out of the bushes with flower petals falling off his head. But the child to come out of the woods had brown hair instead of red and had feet instead of hooves. The child was not Theriot nor was it a faun.

It was a little human girl.

She walked barefoot in the woods and the hem of her white dress was stained with grass and dirt and adventure.

Rowan shuddered. He didn't have the energy to move from where he was lying, his wounds weren't even healed yet. Basking in the faint afternoon and early evening sun. Fragments of light pierced through the leaves and branches and scattered tenderly on his skin. The little girl slowly approached him, bravely.

Rowan scooted back, uncertainly. "Stop." Rowan called. "Who goes there?" Then his mind wondered curiously. He did know who this little girl was.

The little girl put her hands on her hips and spoke with confidence and regal serenity like that of the thousand-year-old oak trees around them. "My name is Frances."

The light of the sun began to change. It was a soft glowing light that saturated the soil and flowers. Slithers of pink and orange and yellow cascaded over the sky and onto the earth. Twilight was soon approaching, but it was the dawn of a brilliant idea for the Fae prince.

Who was soon to be king.

* * *

 **Replies to Reviewers:**

 **Tanaka-Chan: Thank you again for your kind review :)**

 **James Birdsong: HI AGAIN! Thank you so much for reading those two chapters and I'm so happy you liked them!**

 **BBFan: Hello again XD I'm glad you enjoyed the roller coaster haha I loved reading your review! It was so delightful! Thank you so much! haha did I surprise you there? XD Although you were right to fear for Tommy's life lol but he's going to be okay, as long as he doesn't get treated with any more Phantomhive hospitality lol Yes! I'm glad you noticed that one detail about Elsie's opinion about cousins marrying cousins. The next chapter will introduce Elizabeth and we'll get to read about her interactions and relationship with Elsie, if everything goes according to plan lol Thank you so much for your support!**

 **VelvetCoral: Hi! Thank you so much for all your kinds words in your review! I'm happy that you like Elsie and who she is and her relationship with Ciel! She didn't play that much of a role in this chapter, but she definitely will in the next. Yes, I am aware of what's currently happening in the manga, I plan to incorporate as much as I can from that phase, but I also want to wait until more is revealed in canon. That or I will improvise myself haha Thank you for your review!**

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you guys for much for reading chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it! What did you think? XD**

 **This chapter was very Ciel, Sebastian, Rowan heavy and I enjoyed writing the dialogue in this one. Plus, there was a new OC XDD His name is Theriot and he is this little cute faun that is Rowan's servant. We also learned more about Rowan himself, his reasons for even wanting a bride, not for love but to rise in his station and attain power in order to save his brother, Prince Arawn who is secretly alive but in a sleeping enchantment! How did Arawn get trapped in such a fate? Why does Rowan need to marry Elsie, a human girl, in order to save his brother? What's going to happen to Frances who accidentally stumbled upon Rowan while exploring the woods? What is the 'deserved' room Tommy will be placed in? haha All/most of these questions will be revealed in the next chapter!**

 **Thank you for much for reading! Your reviews make the writing process fun and exciting! The fall semester has started for me so that is why this update was slow, I'm so sorry, the next update might take awhile because of my workload from school, which can be very demanding. But i'll try my best! Thank you so much for the support! Please review this chapter! I'd love to know your thoughts!**

 **See you guys next time! Bye!**


	11. The First Petal to Fall

_Scenes in italics indicate flashbacks_

* * *

 **Chapter 11: The First Petal to Fall **

_Excerpt from the Fae Folk Book of Common Law_

 _IV_

 _The Celestial Gate is the barrier separating all the realms. Human, Fae, and demon alike._

 _None may pass through the gate freely on their own accord._

 _Only sprites, of both kind and malevolent nature, may cross between the gate whenever they please._

 _Sprites belong nowhere and yet they belong everywhere._

 _Of all creatures, magical or not, only they are free._

* * *

 _The winds rolled on high past the Sea of Crusoe, where the water sprite of the same name dwells below the gray shifting waters. A water sprite whose name is chanted in hymns. Whose name is sung in glory. Whose name is prayed to in love. The sprite lives down below singing its own prayer. A song sung solely for the sea. The only beautiful hymn in its opinion. Before the Tuatha De Danaan, first born Fae clan that rose in power in the Otherworld, it was the sprites that governed this mystical world. Sprites, like Crusoe the water horse, live freely by themselves under no Fae's authority but their own. Sprites have existed long before the first shooting star struck the land, long before the first sparks of magic jumped into the first bud of a blossoming rose to rise from the snow of a bitter winter. Every ending has a new beginning. The death of a single star lead to the first spark of magic, of starlight, that bred the beginning of all the Fae Folk. Sprites lived in solitary before the first of the Fae Folk walked upon their home, Fae unknowing of the glorious world they were born into. It was the sprites, like Crusoe, that taught the Fae their magic and how to wield it. They taught the Fae to love the land and the stars and each other. But then, the Fae Folk grew and grew. They built towers and castles and began spreading across the land. Soon a seed was planted into the Fae's hearts, a terrible and vile seed that led the Fae to lust after what they didn't have and what they could have. A seed that never belonged to the stars._

 _Greed._

 _They wanted more. Fighting one another for land. Fighting for power. Fighting to rule. Fighting over the control of the sprites._

 _The sprites had enough of it. So they left._

 _Sprites belong nowhere, and yet they belong everywhere. Free to travel through the celestial gates that separates all realms, human, Fae, and demon alike. Some traveled to the human realm and stayed. And some stayed in the Fae realm and never left. Crusoe, the water horse of the sea, has never left its precious home. Instead, it dwells at the bottom of the sea that bears its name, hiding below the midnight trenches, but sometimes, when the land above is quiet and when the waves are still and when the water is clear, Crusoe swims close to where light penetrates the water's edge. Where sea glass shines like no other. Crusoe gazes through the shimmering waters of the sea and looks upon a beautiful sight it seldom gets to see. The sky._

 _Sometimes, if Crusoe is lucky, it sees so much more than the endless blue sky._

 _It sees a dragon._

 _A small one just beginning to learn how to fly. Crusoe may be old, older than the stars, but it was clever. Its mind sharp as a serpent's fangs. It could recognize magic anywhere and could see through the transformation spell of the little dragon fervently flapping its wings, struggling to stay in air. Crusoe swam closer towards the water's surface, ripples of light danced on its face as it watched the youngest Fae prince, a mere boy, learn how to fly. Bubbles rose from Crusoe's jaw, a laugh perhaps, as it watched Rowan rise and fall in the sky above._

" _Arawn!" Rowan bellowed as he flapped his wings fervently. His red, scarlet hued scales reflected the sun's light. Intensifying the fire raging beneath his scales. Rowan, a little boy, flapped his wings haphazardly as his eyes glued onto his older brother, Arawn, crown prince of the Otherworld._

" _Don't look at down at me, Ro._ _Keep your head towards the sky. Keep moving forward. That's the only way." Arawn called his brother as he strode across the cliff. His moonlight hair glistened under the sun and his blue eyes caught the sky's reflection. Beauty magnified in his eyes. Arawn was the eldest prince, the one to inherit the throne. Of course, as the heir to a ginormous kingdom, it was his duty to learn about all the ginormous things within his soon-to-be ginormous kingdom. Arawn was a clever boy and he was impeccably gifted with magic. Which was simultaneously a joy and absolute terror to his tutors. A joy, because his tutors were able to instruct a brilliant prince and theorize about magic together. A terror, because they soon began to run out of things to teach Arawn and Arawn soon began to teach them, his tutors, instead. Which wasn't how a classroom was supposed to run. So while Arawn's tutors began to research for more difficult material they could test him on (even though Arawn highly doubted they would find something he hasn't read yet. He even read through all the books in the Queen's Library, twice.) Arawn burrowed Rowan from one of his tutoring sessions. It was 'urgent princely matters,' quoted by Arawn, that exuded Rowan from his studies. Arawn had an impeccable mind, but his lying could use a bit of refining. Which was sadly a topic his tutors were too afraid to teach him. For he would master the skill far too quickly. Arawn over the short yellow-green grass and wild flowers that sprung through the dirt that dusted his scuffed boots. Arawn cupped his hands over his mouth and yowled, smiling. "You're doing great!"_

" _Why is flying so difficult?"_

" _It's all about balance." Arawn replied._

" _Ah, everything I don't have." Rowan whined._

 _Arawn laughed._

" _Arawn, this isn't funny!"_

" _I'm not laughing." Arawn said, while he was laughing. "I enjoy watching my little brother learning to fly for the first time. You're doing way better than most, might I add. You didn't even throw up either!"_

 _Rowan sucked in a breath and gasped as he plummeted down then caught the wind beneath his wings again, steadying himself. Rowan may not have been gifted as Arawn was, but his knowledge was still on par with that of his tutors. Transformation is a difficult art form and it takes years, even for the highest of Fae, to learn it properly. And it only took Rowan a fraction of time of what it takes for most. Even for a Fae of impure blood, it was very impressive. He looked down at Arawn. "I can't do this! I'm too scared!"_

 _Arawn ran towards the edge of the cliff and yelled. "Don't give up! Never give up! AND DON'T STOP MOVING FORWARD!"_

 _Red scales streaked the blue sky. Plummeting towards the sea._

 _Fear plunged itself in Arawn's heart. He cried his little brother's name and in the same steady beat, he ran and dove off the edge of the cliff._

 _And a pair of powerful sapphire wings soared in the sky. Wings belonging to a high and mighty dragon. Arawn caught his little brother before he fell into the sea. His claws grasped onto Rowan's wings._

 _Crusoe sighed a moment of relief._

" _My heart is racing." Rowan sighed._

" _So is mine when you attempt to crash into Crusoe's Sea, little brother."_

" _Well, I didn't mean to." Rowan pouted. "I was going to fly up at the last second. To look cool." He added, weakly._

" _Of course, of course." Arawn flew towards the cliff and Rowan expected to be dropped down on it. Only until Arawn flew higher and higher and higher and the pair of boots Rowan left in a bushel of fluttering wild flowers became a speck of a yellow of a speck on a green cliff._

" _Why aren't we landing on the cliff? The cliff is safe. The cliff is nicer and closer to the ground. I like the cliff. Did I mention it's closer to the ground?"_

" _You will never learn to fly on land. You can only learn with the sun above your head and the wind beneath your feet."_

" _Land beneath my feet sounds better."_

 _Arawn laughed as his claws let go of his younger brother. Rowan gasped as he struggled to balance himself in the wind. All the while Arawn flew with ease. It was as if the crown prince was blessed by Obelia, sprite of the wind, and was granted the power to command the wind to carry him effortlessly throughout the sky. If land was his palace then the sky was his kingdom. And like any benevolent king ruling over a beautiful kingdom, he watched over it with a fatherly gaze. Arawn's sapphire scales glimmered like the shimmering blue mirrors of a Morpho butterfly's wings. Rowan was in awe of his brother's flight—he was in awe of everything._

 _Arawn flew around Rowan and chanted. "Need not be afraid, brother. The sky is your kingdom. The winds are your subjects. Honor both. Your wings are your shield. Your fire is your sword. Be proud of both. Be thankful for all, protect all, for they grant you the gift of flight."_

 _With a powerful beat of his wings, Arawn soared through the clouds and spiraled in the air. Twirling amongst the sea of clouds in the endless blue sky. A gust of wind smacked Rowan in the face. A spat-out spark of fire with a flick of his tongue. Show off, he thought. Then he breathed—and focused. The sky is his kingdom. The wind his subjects. His wings his shield. His fire his sword._

 _Fire burned in Rowan's eyes._

 _Rowan tore his gaze from the ground and lifted his head in front of him. Looking forward. Moving forward. Just like Arawn advised him to do. He felt the fire in the throat. He felt it crackle in his jaw and sizzle past his teeth. The fire in his scales blazed bright and he looked forward—and soared._

 _He swooped past his brother, leaving him to eat the clouds behind him. He turned to his brother with a cocky grin on his face. "Race you to Fellia's Peak and back."_

 _The fire in Arawn's eyes sparked. "I was waiting for you to suggest that."_

 _And so, Crusoe watched as the two boy princes flew fast into the sky, turning into little specks, disappearing in the distance. Tired and sleepy, Crusoe swam back below to the midnight trenches of its sea. All the while listening to the faint lingering echoes of the princes' laughter under that sunlight sky that swept up with its own song of the sea. Intertwining into a sweet melody._

* * *

"My name is Frances." The little girl said, boldly. Wild flowers nestled in the curly locks of her blonde hair. Hands on her hips. An impressive empress like stance for a little, fragile human.

Rowan felt the wind uneasily stir around him as the little human girl stood before him. Acknowledging everything about him. His magic. His weakened state. His vulnerability. How long has she been there? How much as she seen? Did she see Theriot, a little faun, jumping and crying and wailing about Rowan's failed plans? Will she run back to her older sister, or even to that insufferable Phantomhive boy and tell them about him? Why didn't Rowan notice her presence any sooner? Of all things, he didn't want to think that his fight with that wretched demon made him too weak, too tired, too incompetent to notice the presence of a mere human child.

He has battled hordes of demons, armies of those who wished to drain his blood, breathed dragon's fire and scorched his enemies down to their very bones, and never has he felt anything but courage and valor when facing such formidable opponents. And yet, this little girl standing so surely in front of him with her eyes beaming like the ethereal waters of Crusoe the water sprite had him feeling everything else rather than courage or value. To put it bluntly, he was petrified, to put it even more bluntly, he was the epitome of everything that would be the laughing stalk of the entire Fae court. He already imagined Isobel, high Fae of the Winter Court, laughing and shaking till the icicles in her snow palace crack and crash to the ice floor. Then again, what would Arawn think? Kind and gentle Prince Arawn who sympathized with the humans.

Rowan trembled as the little girl took a step forward, and he was ashamed to admit that his body trembled trying to move back (which he blamed entirely on the demon, Sebastian, who horribly injured him.) He was disgrace to all the Otherworld. If Arawn were awake and well, he would surely laugh at his little brother. Rowan sighed. He would give anything to hear his brother's laughter again. Even Arawn chastising him would warm his heart.

But Rowan knew that he mustn't give up. For that day will soon come to fruition, when he and his brother will be reunited once more. He mustn't give up. He has come too far to accept defeat. The next hurdle in his plan stood right in front of him, and Rowan was not one to admit defeat so easily.

The little girl stepped forward and Rowan steadied his ground. There was only one thing to do. Pretend to be human.

Rowan hasn't been human in nearly three thousand years, but his encounter with Elsie began to jog his memory of what it was once like. Oh, what did human males like again? Rowan prided himself on his impeccable memory, he was able to cite scriptures of the Fae Folk Book of Common Law in his sleep, and he can quote every line and every verse of every book on magic written by Fae and witch alike. He could quote any line in any book in the Queen's Library, well, maybe not all of the books, some of them were in Ancient Greek. Arawn most certainly could though, backwards even. Politics, culture, Rowan knew everything there is to know about the Fae, his own kind. Yet, he was racking his brain on what he _once_ was. Human. Long ago, when he was changed, when his mortal shell cracked and shed and turned to dust. When he rose from a pile of ashes, reborn. There was no room in his reborn self for archaic and human thoughts, feelings—memories. Human memories are the first things to go in a Fae body. Memories fell through his mind like bread crumbs through a colander. He was only left with vague clumps of what was once his life. Scotland and its moors stayed and so did catching toads for some odd reason, but other smaller, fine-tuned—more precious memories—could not be retained in his body. Many pure Fae who were already born of magic blood did not suffer this loss called it a blessing. Many of the impure Fae, born of human blood, called it a curse. Remembering your past self was like remembering a ghost. It's faint and gone but not entirely. It's haunting and mocking and follows you around like a shadow.

Now, what was it that human males liked again? Obviously, they don't like time freezing up on them. Elsie just recently taught him that. Which should have been a given, but alas it has been three thousand years, and he was running out of time to acquaint himself properly with human etiquette. His excuse was legitimate just as it was stupidly foolish.

Human males like…bread. Yes, they love bread. They _live_ for bread. They practically eat it every day! It was a staple for living, Rowan reasoned. They even have those, ugh, iron rectangular boxes dedicated for making bread—ovens! They are called ovens! Rowan smiled to himself, proudly. He was remembering so much about the human existence already.

He probably remembered eating some peculiar creation called bread at one point during his short mortal life. Humans in general also cry a lot. But Rowan doubted that him, a prince of such a high caliber, was infallible and incapable of crying even in a lowly mortal state (how wrong he was about that and many other human things) To him, when humans cried, they sounded like squealing piglets. He decided that he would go with the bread option.

"Hello little girl, don't mind me. I was just eating some delicious, oven-made bread." Rowan said as Frances looked at the empty spots of grass besides him. There was no bread in sight. Rowan coughed. "I ate it all."

"Are you a fairy?" Frances asked, immediately. Her voice calm, yet curious.

Rowan internally cursed himself. Human children were smarter than he was led on about. Maybe if he mentioned eating bread with butter, he would have sounded more convincing. "What? Who me? I am just your typical human male who enjoys eating bread, with butter, and complaining about majority of useless things that are out of my control."

Frances didn't look convinced. She eyed Rowan from the tip of his head to the bottom of his scuffed shoes. She narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows, "You don't look like a fairy." She looked at him again. He was way to big to be a fairy too. Plus it looked like he wore the same shoe size as her father, and as fair as France knew, fairies don't have troll sized feet.

Rowan _looked_ taken back. What does she mean he doesn't look like a fairy? He was as real as they come! He is a Fae prince! If Rowan had enough magic in his system, he would turn this little girl into a chestnut and toss her to the squirrels from that incredibly rude comment! "Now now now, this notion of fairies you speak of, which I am obviously not," he added to clarify his obvious lie, "does not conform to this stereotypical image you see in the mainstream media carrying to the dimwitted masses. Why, if I were a fairy which you speak of, which I obviously am not, and found your remark to be rude and indecent and if I were a fairy, which if I do say so myself I am as human as they come, then I would turn you into a piglet, roast you over a fire and serve you up for supper with a cup of tea. If I were a fairy, that is."

"Which you are not?"

"Of course."

Frances pointed. "If you are a fairy then where are your wings?"

"Wait. I thought we went over this already—"

"All fairies are supposed to have wings, so they can fly. What kind of fairy are you if you cannot fly?"

Rowan help up his hand, his voice was bubbling with a strong opinion and it was about to burst. "Firstly. Fairies don't have wings. Only the highest of Fae can transform into beasts of flight. _With wings._ But regularly, I have never seen such a thing in my life on any other their backs—"

"You've seen fairies?" Frances' eyes widened in anticipation.

Rowan was quick to correct himself. "No, what I meant to say is that the concept of fairies with wings is a man-made conception, and from historically accurate texts that date back far before you were born," which Frances believed to be more than ten years ago. Ancient times. "Fairies have never shown to exhibit butterfly or dragonfly wings that humans—eh, us people—always portray them to have. Secondly, the term 'fairy' is nothing more than common slang used to group many creatures together for the sake of simplicity. You can just so easily call a boggart, a sprite, or a changeling a fairy and it wouldn't make so much of a difference to you, now would it. But there is a difference. There is a difference between all these creatures right down to their blood. Just as there is a clear distinction between dogs, cats, and humans. Do you address a dog how you would address a person, child?"

Frances nodded. "Sometimes." Just yesterday she was reading a picture book about ducks to the ducks in Cottingley river. She wanted the ducks to know about the great stories of other brave and adventurous ducks. The ducks in Cottingley were shy and meek, but beautiful all the same.

Rowan paused. Really, is that how animals work here? Back at court, one of his advisors is a peacock, who was very intelligent and taught Rowan how to use the basics of transformation magic. As far as Rowan's research about human realm animals go, none of them speak any of the popular languages, pursue an education beyond primary school, or take part in government parties. Just a few days ago, Rowan witnessed a dog refusing to herd sheep for the farmer it worked for and Rowan thought that the dog was on going on strike! Retaliating against the cruel labor system forced upon it by mankind! But then Rowan realized that the dog was just old and sleepy and did not have any political or social agendas to fight for. Frances saw that Rowan was slow to answer and instead he purposely neglected to answer this own question altogether. "Never mind, but the fairies to which you are referring to are called the Fae Folk. Now, this is just my opinion, but they prefer to be called that much more than _fairies._ " He said the last word distastefully.

Frances rested her chin in her hand as she leaned over a rock covered with moss. Her golden locks spooled over her shoulder. Light bounced off his rosy cheeks. A butterfly made its way into the clearing, appearing and disappearing with every flap of its wings. "For someone who claims to not be a fairy, you sure know a lot about them."

"I read."

"You know more than my sister does and she knows everything there is to know about fairies—"

"Fae Folk." Rowan intervened.

Frances didn't care.

"She obviously appreciates true culture when she sees it."

Frances was silent for a moment. "Then what was the little boy?"

Rowan spoke softly and blinked. "Pardon?"

She giggled, "The little boy with hooves for feet. He made a cloppity-clop sound whenever he jumped around." Frances proceeded to reenact the segment of Theriot jumping around Rowan and feigned a clopping sound with her mouth. She captured Theriot's performance perfectly, all without Theriot's insidious wails, which Rowan appreciated greatly.

"Yes, yes, yes. He makes clopping sounds. You may stop now."

"Elsie told me that fairy royalty—"

"Fae Folk royalty." Rowan corrected.

Frances didn't listen. "—Keep fauns as servants. That boy was a faun, wasn't he?"

"Those were his…shoes." Rowan said slowly. "Very heavy, horse like, shoes." His lying needed work.

"I'd love to meet your faun!" Frances proceeded to jump around like Theriot.

Rowan mumbled. This little girl knows too much. Sure, a lot of what she knew was jargon from the media, but a smallest portion of Rowan appreciated her enthusiasm for his culture. A lot of what she knew came from Elsie—

Elsie.

Rowan narrowed his eyes into emerald slits. The summer solstice is quickly approaching and so is his deadline to find a bride to marry. His deadline to inherit the throne and to save his brother. If Elsie declined his _extremely polite and non-invasive marriage proposal,_ then he was going to have to come up with a different proposal. One where she will have no other choice than to say yes.

Rowan smiled. The wind began to stir. And music began to play. Frances looked up into the trees and watched the branches dance along to the melody of a tin whistle.

She did not notice the seed Rowan dropped on her head. She did not notice the gust of wind to sweep past her face. She did not notice Rowan disappear entirely until the music began to fade into nothing. Until the melody was replaced with the song of the trees.

Frances blinked. She looked around the clearing for the fairy who claimed to not be a fairy, but who obviously was a fairy. He couldn't fool her. No matter how many times he talked about loving bread. Frances stepped over the moss ridden logs watched the sunlight shimmer in the spring emerging from the tall oak tree. There was only her and the rustling of the little stream. Frances smiled from ear to ear. She spotted a fairy—oh, she spotted one of the Fae Folk. She quickly ran back to the manor, all the while not noticing the little seed placed on her head sink further and further beneath her golden curls. Finally to disappear within them.

* * *

The wind dropped Rowan onto plain of a wild grass. Stuck between tall trees with everlasting green vines. Song birds chirped noisily from Rowan's sudden appearance.

Rowan breathed heavily as he slowly stood up. Feeling the pain resonate throughout his body. He fell. The wind carried the leaves and spiraled into a beautiful spring vortex. And in the middle of that vortex was a woman. Supple and willowy. Her hair was the wind and her eyes reflected the sky. Her body was the clouds. Her voice the rustle of the leaves.

Obelia. Sprite of the wind.

Obelia was one of the many sprites that fled the Fae realm to live in the human realm. Sprites are the only creatures who can freely pass through the celestial gate, locked to all other creatures including the Fae. Rowan needed the key to cross the gate and a lot of permission from his high court advisors. Obelia only needed herself. She was free as the wind.

"Thank you, Obelia." Rowan winced.

The wind sprite stayed silent. Finally, she answered. "What are you fighting for, little prince?"

Rowan looked up at her with his emerald eyes. _To save my brother. To save my people._

"You need not answer. Only think of it in your mind."

"My being here is obvious. I only have until the summer solstice to find a bride and become king."

"A bride you shall find. A king you shall become." Obelia lulled. Her voice lowered. "But the fighting will never end. The wind tells me such things."

Rowan tensed. "What do you mean?"

"The clash between your kind will not cease when you marry your human bride. No matter how you think it will meld the tensions between, how you call them, pure and impure Fae. I taught—I nurtured—the first-born Fae that fell from the stars. Taught them the magic of the wind and sky. All are precious to me. All are equal to me, but you all seem to think some Fae are more equal than others. The stars love all. Equally. The day when the Fae Folk realize that is the day I shall return to the Otherworld. Farewell, prince."

A gust of wind-swept past Rowan. A trail of fallen leaves followed behind her. Then Obelia disappeared. Leaving Rowan alone.

He turned around and called out a spell and the vines moved for him. Revealing a small cottage. Paint was chipped. The windowsills cracked. The roof curved like a branch covered with snow. But the chimney let out a warm, black smoke. Theriot must be inside making tea.

The doors opened on their own for Rowan. And the door closed behind him just the same. The stools moved out of their way and pillows piled high in the sofa for Rowan to rest. He slouched down on the sofa with a sigh of relief as a tea cup and saucer floated by his side, pouring itself a cup of tea. Rowan closed his eyes as a cube of sugar, then two, plopped happily into his tea. A spoon stirred the mixture, clicking against the glass. He grabbed the cup in midair and sipped the tea, slouching back against the pillows. What a day. First, he got rejected by the girl who absolutely abhorred him, that Tommy Hopkins boy who he enchanted to kill Ciel Phantomhive failed to do just that and managed to get shot himself, and then he battled and lost to a demon of all things. Rowan let a moan of aggravation. Nothing ever happens the way he plans it to.

Theriot hobbled to Rowan's side holding a saucer of sugar dusted scones and a mug of honey dripped milk in his hands. "I made them for you, especially." Theriot smiled a toothy grin.

"I'm not hungry." Rowan turned on his side away from Theriot.

Just then, Rowan could almost feel Theriot's frown seeping through his back. Smacking itself against his heart. And he most certainly could hear the whimpers of little Theriot permeating through his ears. The smell of the scones reached his nose, delightfully, and he turned towards Theriot and began to eat them. The succulent, sweet bread practically melted in his mouth and the sugar tingled against the inside of his cheeks.

Theriot beamed like a thousand suns. "Do you like them?"

"They're delicious." Rowan gobbled down another scone and gestured for Theriot to take one too. Theriot jumped into a stool and nibbled on a scone.

"I notified the advisors." Theriot said in between bites. "And they aren't happy."

Rowan groaned into a pillow. "Those old bastards don't know how hard it is to find a bribe and they expect me to find one before the summer solstice begins. They're insane all of them."

Theriot had a suggestion. "Wouldn't it be easier if you married one of the high court ladies? One of them is bound to say yes."

Rowan's face was planted in his pillow. The prince to the Otherworld was currently being a dramatic pain in the arse. He swirled his wrist in the air, lethargically. "It's complicated, Theriot."

"You're not ugly, so it shouldn't be that complicated."

Rowan sat up at that back handed compliment. "Theriot. I must marry a human girl. Marrying some pompous and stuck up noblewoman from court isn't what Arawn wanted for me." Not only that, but Rowan wanted to prove to all those stuck-up pure Fae that he, an impure can sit on the throne with a human bride and rule the Otherworld together. "Are my advisors preparing the holy well?"

Theriot nodded. "Yup! Your advisors said the holy well will be ready by the beginning of the summer solstice."

"Excellent." Rowan stirred his cup of tea. Once Elsie agrees to become his bride (by which he has yet another brilliant plan up his sleeve) he will take Elsie back to the Otherworld. Once he sticks it to the nobles that Elsie is more perfect that any lady in court, she will drink the water from the well at their wedding ceremony.

And become one of the Fae Folk herself.

Too impure Fae on the throne.

The sugar dusted scones weren't the only things making him smile.

* * *

"Ah." Elsie moaned as light passed through the clear glass windows. White laced curtains drifted through along the wind, coming through the open windows. She slowly opened her eyes. Black lashes fluttering against her cheeks.

Those curtains were not hers. Neither was this room. The mahogany crafted furniture and vanities did not belong to anyone in her home. The felt the sheets beneath her form, so soft and supple. This was not her bed either. Her eyes shot open, fully alert, as a pair of hands touched her forehead. Elsie grabbed the hand of the maid with saucer sized glasses.

The maid, Mey-rin, mumbled. "Do forgive me miss, but I was only checking your temperature. The young master found you unconscious in the woods and heaven forbid you caught some abrupt sickness. You were cold as ice while you were asleep."

Elsie gently released her hand and towards her chest. "What I fainted? But, I, don't remember." Suddenly, her mind relapsed like a cinematic record. _She did remember_. There was a May Day celebration and there she met a strange man named Rowan who stopped time and proposed to her and—he was prince to a land called the Otherworld. _He was magic._

"I think you do."

Elsie turned her head and there was Ciel standing in the middle of the doorway, arms crossed. Only knocking once on the door. He gestured for Mey-rin to leave, and she did.

Elsie shot up from bed and was instantly met with a wave of pain pulsing against her skull. Ciel ran up to her bedside and held her hand with his other against her back. He spoke softly. "Rest, my dear."

"Ciel." Elsie whispered as he set her head gently unto the pillow. Then she remembered another delightful fact. Ciel was engaged to another and he still had the gall to kiss her beneath the weeping willow tree. Passionately, even. "I'm still angry with you."

"I know. You can be angry with me all you want. But rest for now."

The light from the sun shined on top of Ciel's. Illuminating individual strands of sapphires. He was radiant—Elsie turned her head away from him. "How could you." She mumbled.

"Hm? How could I what?" Worry struck his voice. "If you don't find this room to your liking, I'll move you to another." He turned his head towards the door, willing to call Mey-rin.

"Not that." Elsie said. Her eyes glistened with water. She desperately tried to hold in her tears. Finally, she looked at him. Dead in the eyes. "How could you make me fall in love with you? Was this all a game to you? Did you feel the same for me as I did you? Tell me."

Ciel's heart split in half just as ice cracks with sudden heat. He dropped unto his knees and held her hand in his own. His hands tightly covering her own. His skin warm against her cold fingers. "It was never a game. It never was. You're the only one who I love, and I meant every word—"

"Don't." Elsie pulled her hand away. Her voice barely a whisper.

"Every word." His voice softened. "I want to be only with you. I want to know you, what makes you happy, what makes you laugh, what makes you incredibly pissed off at me."

"You know that one very well." Elsie retorted.

"You're the only one I want to see, to be with, there is no other. There is only you." He reached for her hand again, and this time she did not hesitate to pull away. He held her hand and pressed his lips against her skin. She felt warmer this time. "There is only you."

Elsie felt a blush rushing up her neck. "Ciel—"

"Oi, young master." A gruff man with shaggy blonde hair stood in the doorway. Bardroy, the chef of the estate, stood tall with a mallet slung over his shoulder and a toothpick sticking out from his mouth. The toothpick bobbed up and down as he spoke. "Sorry to interrupt, but I took care of that Tommy boy just like you told me too. Poor lad didn't have anything left in him." He tossed the mallet up and down in his hand.

All color faded from Ciel's face. Even more so from Elsie, she looked pale as a ghost.

Elsie turned to Ciel. Eyes narrowing on him like a hawk closing in on a rabbit.

"Allow me to explain before rushing to conclusions—"

Bardroy didn't think to stop talking. "And that gunshot wound was pretty nasty, in my opinion. Oh, pardon me." He wiped the blood off his hands on his white apron. Creating an unsightly streak of iron red. "That's not going to come out." Bardroy mumbled.

A gunshot wound! Blood! What happened when Elsie was out cold? "WHAT DID YOU DO TO TOMMY!?" Elsie demanded. "WHERE IS HE?!"

"Why, he's in the cellar." Bardroy stated, simply. "I can take you to him if you want."

In the cellar! Oh, they obviously mean their torture chamber. Elsie didn't just fall in love with a two-timing noble, but she also fell in love with a psychopath. Maybe she should really become a nun. The convents don't deal with these kinds of problems. Elsie shot out of bed regardless of her own pain. "Take me to him."

Still, her body struggled to lift her out.

Ciel tried to balance Elsie, but she refused to be helped. Instead, she fell with him in his arms. The sheets were a hazardous mess and the white blanket tangled between Elsie's legs. The wooden floor was beneath them, warm from soaking in the sunlight. Now she laid on top of Ciel, their faces millimeters apart.

Heels clicked throughout the corridor. Practically prancing. The echoes reached Ciel and at that moment he thought that nothing worse could possibly happen.

That is, until Elizabeth Midford, daughter of the Leader of the British Knights, Marquess Alexis Leon Midford, fiancé to the Queen's Watchdog, stood between the doorway next to the chef with the bloody apron and mallet slung over his shoulder. Elizabeth's eyes popped as she saw Ciel underneath Elsie. The color drained from her face when she saw Elsie's legs straddling Ciel's hips. Her soul left her body as she saw how flushed in complexion those two were. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. First, it was the German girl and now it's the one who cries fairies.

"Elizabeth!" Ciel exclaimed, shocked.

Elsie's face flashed a bright red. So this was Elizabeth Midford! This wasn't how Elsie wanted to make her first impression! She remembered all the things she wanted to tell Elizabeth, how Ciel played a game with Elsie's heart, but the way things look now, so close to her fiancé (literally on his hips)—didn't someone mention that Elizabeth was the daughter of the Leader of the British Knights—and that she is a master with the sword? Elsie gulped. She quickly reasoned that she wouldn't live long enough to see Tommy, or that she will be imprisoned along with him in the cellar of the Phantomhive manor.

Elizabeth straightened her back and folded her white gloved hands together. Her eyes narrowed and her voice lowered. "Well, this is perfect timing. I came here to talk about our engagement anyway. I want to call it off."

"Young Master, afternoon tea is ready," Sebastian said as he rolled in a silver cart into the disastrous bedroom. Filled with a fiancé standing in front of her betrothed with another on his hips and a chef with a bloody apron and a mallet that implied that he did a lot of questionable things to stain his hands red. Sebastian looked down at the silver cart with tea pots and cups and light snacks. He reasoned that he didn't need to bring the tea, considering it was already here. Piping hot, too.

* * *

 _The sunset sunk below the Sea of Crusoe. Leaving the world above only to be illuminated by the stars in the midnight sky. Colors of indigo, wine, and black bleed into the other. White stars and their shimmering tails danced amongst that cacophony of color._

 _Still, Arawn and Rowan walked hand in hand on their way home to the castle. Hoods shrouded their heads, in fear of being recognized. Even these dark hours._

 _Rowan tripped over an uplifted root._

 _Arawn whispered, his starlight hair hidden beneath his hood. "Remember the chant we sung under the mountain?"_

 _Rowan nodded. "That's the first spell I ever learned. I could never forget it. You taught it to me."_

 _Arawn smiled. He held out his hand and waited for Rowan to hold onto it._

 _Rowan did._

 _Together they sung an enchantment to light up the dark night. Humming to the thrum of the cicadas singing in the forest:_

" _The moon pleads to the sun to rise again._

 _To light the world._

 _The night too long to wait till morning._

 _The animals too cold, not even the bears are snoring._

 _The clever fox lights a pine._

 _Sends the forest roaring._

 _Sends the winds moaning._

 _The fire is red. The flames spread._

 _The trees are torches, blazed with life."_

 _They sung that enchantment together as fire burned in their joined hands. It was burning bright and the light guided the path ahead._

 _Arawn was taller than Rowan, older than him by a few hundred years too. But if they were to be compared to human children, one would guess that they around the ages of twelve and nine, respectively. Rowan has already lived 75 years as one of the Fae. He was adopted into the royal family by Arawn's request. He was the human born prince, a name which many of the upper-class Fae called him, mockery hidden behind their twisted smiles. Rowan excelled in his studies and progressed faster than any of the other Fae born children his age and older. But the court members only seemed to care about, and remember, his impure blood that stained the royal court._

 _Arawn looked down at Rowan and smiled upon him with a brotherly gaze. Then his smile faltered, slowly. Rowan's transition—his human death and Fae birth—are never painless._

" _Are you happy here?" Arawn asked._

 _The light of the flames flickered off Rowan's cheeks. His smile was bright like the enchanted fire they created together. "With you, I am always happy."_

 _Red began to swarm at their feet._

" _Stop." Arawn called. He held the flame closer to the ground and examined the red entrails left there. Rose petals._

 _Rose petals that lead in a village not far from where they currently are._

" _Arawn." Rowan looked at his brother, confused._

" _Not another village." Arawn spoke under his breath, then he spoke louder to his brother. "We need to get away from here. Don't step on the petals. Watch out for the seeds. Cover your mouth."_

" _Can I still breath?" Rowan joked, as he looked warily at the ground. Avoiding the rose petals like Arawn told him to. What was so dangerous about these red rose petals anyway?_

 _They turned around and head back the way they came._

 _Rowan spoke. "Arawn, why can't we cross through the village to get back to the castle? Any other way is too long."_

" _I'm sorry, Rowan, but we can't cross through that village." Arawn's gaze constantly fell upon the ground, eyeing the empty spots free from rose petals. Avoiding rose petals at all costs. "That village is infected with the plague."_

* * *

After Frances had an encounter with one of the Fae, she decided to run back to the Phantomhive manor. She made it past the forest, and she could hear Finnian calling her name. How concerned he sounded trying to find her. Frances reasoned that it was rude of her to, eh, ditch the gardener whilst he was planning tulips and turnips side by side each other.

Her throat began to tighten.

Her breath became short.

She instantly started coughing. And when she held her hands in front of her mouth, fear that she would cough up blood again. Her eyes widened.

She coughed up a single rose petal. Red as blood.

* * *

 **Replies to reviewers:**

 **BBFan: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEW! XD I LOVED READING IT!** **I'm so happy you enjoyed the roller coaster, Elsie's stance against Rowan, Sebastian's form, Rowan's fight against Sebastian (when you said it was intense, I felt like I accomplished something haha), Theriot, and your bad feeling about Rowan's interaction with Frances was correct *evil laugh* but im pleased that you sympathize with him too! He's creating all of this mayhem to save his brother, but unfortunately it sucks for everyone else haha i love love-hate relationships with villains and I hope that is something I can accomplish XD good question about sphere music hall! I hope i can surprise y'all with that I have planned, although my interpretation will _kind of_ differ from the manga haha THANK YOU AGAIN and I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter too :) **

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think pretty please XD**

 **Firstly, I want to apologize for not updating in so, so long. Last semester of school was really stressful and i'm taking biochem this semester and now I have to memorize all 20 amino acids by Monday (woohoo!) welp lol but enough about that! I hope you guys liked reading this chapter and the FLASH BACK scenes between Arawn and Rowan when they were kids, and the introduction of the sickness that affected Arawn, and the Fae world on top of that! TBH I had lots of fun writing them and there will definitely be more flashbacks later on too! Elizabeth finally made her appearance! (short though lol)**

 **Also! Even if I don't update the story frequently, i'm very active on tumblr! my main blog is 'Oooodlesofnooodles' and my story blog dedicated to the fic is 'Aroseforelsie,' all the info is on my profile page. On my story blog I reblog lots of characters aesthetics for Elsie, Ciel, Tommy, and even for characters that have yet to appear in the fic, such as Meteora (a fae princess) and Pierre (a demon XD)**

 **So again, I'm sorry for the inactivity, but please let me know what you thought about the chapter, it motives me to write so, so much.**

 **See you guys next time! Bye!**


	12. Ringing of the Bells

_Italics indicate flashback scenes_

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Replies to Guest Reviews:

 **James Songbird** : Thank you so much for reviewing and I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! ^.^

 **BBFan:** AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVEWING! *hearts* I LOVED IT SO MUCH! I'm so happy you enjoyed the chapter ;A; Oh! I'm in college (and now I have the wonderful delight of attending summer school :D the unpopular opinion is that I'm happy to be taking it haha) i''m stoked you caught all those movie and TV references, you're clever XDDD I LOVE The Water Horse *A* Thank you for recommending the song 'rewrite the stars' for Ciel and Elsie! It's so sweet that you thought of them for it ;;A;; It really, REALLY DOES fit them perfectly and after listening to the song (more than a dozen times) I finally watched the film and everything about it was spectacular! Thank you for telling me! I'm glad you're enjoying the drama ;) (there is going to be plenty more too hehe) and the flashbacks with Rowan and Arawn! The plague was based off hanahaki and it is explained more in this chapter too :3 Thank you again for reviewing and your support means the world to me! I hope you like this chapter too XD

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Ringing of the Bells**

 _Excerpt from the Fae Folk Book of Common Law_

 _V_

 _The line of succession remains within the Fae Folk that descended from the Tuatha De Danaan blood line. For an heir to lay claim to the crown, their predecessors must die, or abdicate. Only one queen has abdicated her blood right to rule and that was Queen Adelliah. The Queen of Roses. The Mistress of Rosula. And the Mother of the plague._

* * *

 _Elsie never liked parties. Especially when she was the center attention of them. People starring, whispering, talking behind her back, debating whether Elsie captured authentic pictures of fairies or if she was making it all up for fame or attention. They believed her in one moment just as much as they doubted her in the very next. Elsie preferred to blend into the crowd or better yet hide behind the curtains she was slowly inching herself towards. A butler, whose presence caught her by surprise (and caught her from retreating into the curtain), offered her a silver tray of o'devours. Elsie didn't know that high socialites enjoyed eating creamed chicken liver on crackers or thinly sliced bovine tongues skewered upon layers of cucumbers and sardines. Not to mention there was caviar that looked more like fisheyes rather than fish eggs. Elsie suppressed the urge to gag by quickly diverting her gaze away from the appetizers, which were not at all appetizing. She smiled meekly and politely rejected the butler and his menacing appetizers._

 _The butler simply nodded, made no objection for her to take at least one sliver of creamed chicken liver, and went onto the next socialite who was very eager to eat the world's worst culinary creations that should have remained lost in history. The socialite gulped down the caviar like it was champagne and hurriedly grabbed another morsel just as the butler turned to the next guest._

 _Elsie hoped dinner would arrive soon, maybe then she would fill her belly with food that wasn't created by a mad scientist. Then she wouldn't have to awkwardly stand by herself as people watched her with lingering gazes. For a while, Elsie just stood there, back against the wall, examining the pot of flowers that suddenly took an interest to her more than ever before when men and women walked past her. Her eyes examined the details of the pot, the gold ridges and hues of sunshine painted by delicate brushstrokes. If she looked closely, she could see the marks left by the brush's bristles—or maybe she was just imagining that she did. She wished her flowerpot examinations would speed up dinner's arrival. She looked up and her gaze caught that of an old woman's with a shawl of a fox (head, tail, and all) wrapped around her neck. The woman smiled, her lips a thin line, then quickly turned her head towards another guest who was talking to Edward Gardner no less. The old woman looked like she wanted to escape the conversation, but her companions did not receive her pleas since they abandoned her and Edward moments prior. The gestures were subtle, but the old woman looked like she wanted to be here just as little as Elsie did. Although, Elsie commended the woman of high society for not retreating into the curtains like Elsie wanted to do but instead interacting with the guests of the party. Women of her stature honed the skill of pretending to be intrigued by conversations governed by men with very little wit. Elsie suddenly felt the need to apologize to the woman whom she barely knew. She wanted to apologize to everyone at the party. The only reason people gathered her tonight was because of her and the fairies._

 _She took those pictures of her handcrafted fairies for Frances, and only Frances. Those pictures were never supposed to leave the home or printed in numerous copies and handed out like flyers to any person in England who has two hands to grab them. Elsie wiped her palms against the sides of her dress, hoping her clammy hands wouldn't leave an imprint of how anxious she was feeling. She couldn't let her nervousness show. She couldn't let people see her waver over the authenticity of her photographs. If they saw her panic, then it would be over. Not only would her name be sullied but so would her entire family, Elsie couldn't bare the shame that would fall onto them because of her. Oh! Why did her mother have to show those pictures to Edward Gardner, leader of the Theosophical Society? Elsie did have (very little) respect for the man despite the fact that he was a complete ninny. It took guts of steel to promote her 'genuine' photographs of fairies and argue against every photography expert to assert their authenticity. Gardner believed himself to be right. Elsie knew he couldn't have been more wrong. Literally, her very first photo was taken with the Cottingley beck in the background, the water was moving at a brisk and rapid pace and thus became a blur upon the glass-plate negatives while the fairies in the foreground, whose wings were drawn as if in flight, were brisk and clean cut on the negatives. That should have been a dead giveaway that her photographs were anything but genuine. Even her father, knowing how artistic and mischievous his daughter is, claimed the fairies were made of cardboard and thought nothing of it more than a prank. But Elsie, oh how Elsie now regretted the feeling of wanting to prove her father wrong and continue the game at home, she took another photograph and then another just to show him so._

' _Fairies are certainly real. I see them in the beck all the time, splashing in the water and climbing in the trees. Children are very keen to fairies. Father, didn't you ever see them when you were little?' She'd say._

" _Me a child? No, my dear. I did not see them when I was little because I was obviously born as a middle-aged man." He'd reply back, scratching his head and narrowing his eyes at the photographs. Wondering what part of it was a fake. Wondering how Elsie pulled it off._

 _Elsie never once squealed her secret to her family and watched happily as Frances reveled in the joy of magic. The smile upon her little sister's face prompted Elsie to venture back to the beck and continue the charade again and again. That loon, Edward Gardner, did everything in his power to make it known to everyone that the supernatural was here in England (the only supernatural thing about the world was him for believing the antics of a sixteen year old girl)._

 _There were always moments when Elsie wanted to let it all out. 'The photos aren't real! They're fakes!' But every time she worked up the nerve to say something, she'd soon lose the will to even try. This was one of those moments. The party Elsie wished she was not attending_ _was hosted by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The man, who was once a struggling ophthalmologist, is now widely known for his novels but is infamously renowned for creating the fictional detective Sherlock Holmes who lives on 221B Baker Street. The people adored Sherlock so much they created a museum in his honor. The Queen adored Arthur so much she knighted him. Elsie was intimidated by the author so much she couldn't refuse an invitation to his party in her honor (When Elsie first read Baker Street, she's embarrassed to say that she instinctively thought of Sherlock stuffing his face with muffins. Another secret she is reluctant to reveal.)_

 _Just as Arthur was known for creating the greatest detective that has ever lived on pages, he is also known for being a devout spiritualist. Believing in ghosts, apparitions, demons, and of course fairies. People always wondered why the man turned to spiritualism. Some say it was because of losing his son and brother and many loved ones in the war, that he wanted to grasp onto the belief that his loved ones existed in an afterlife. An afterlife that was waiting for him too. Some say, he started to take an interest in spiritualism after he arrived home (in a panic) from a dinner party that got too out of hand that was held by some Earl at some manor in some part of the countryside. Arthur never talked about it much, only that the experience changed him. Well, many people didn't believe that one outlandish dinner party could momentously change a person's beliefs, so they gravitated towards the notion that it was the loss of his loved ones that affected him. Just as so many others sympathized in his losses._

 _A bell rung._

 _Dinner was finally, and thankfully, served. Everyone took their seats at the table. The table was garnished with porcelain plates and saucers, glasses that sparkled as if stars were melted into them. There were three forks to the left of her plate and there even more to her right. Along with many spoons and knives. Elsie inconspicuously peered over to the guest sitting next to her (who happened to be the_ _old woman with the shawl of a fox around her neck) and mimicked which spoon she picked up when salad was served. Ah, through the process of elimination Elsie could deduce that one starts from the outside and then works towards the plate. She was her very own detective. Though, she would have made a silly one. If Frances were here, both girls would be balancing their salad spoons on their noses. Sadly, Frances did not have the energy to come to the party. Frances asked Elsie to bring her back a piece of cake and Elsie said she would try her best._

 _Arthur was a tall man with a very thick mustache above his lips. If Frances were here, Elsie would have joked to her sister that anyone who touches his mustache would receive ten years of good luck and even greater hair. Sadly, Elsie did not think the old woman sitting beside her would appreciate her humor, so she remained quiet in the matter entirely. He clinked his glass with a spoon and gathered everyone's attention in the process. Everyone turned to him, including Elsie and the old woman with the shawl of a fox around her neck. Chatter among the guests stopped as they waited for him to speak._

 _Arthur gave his toasts to his guests and thanked them for joining him on this very special night. But most of all, he thanked Elsie, the guest of honor. Arthur once stopped believing in the miraculous ever since his son Kinsley died, but for Elsie to show that there is goodness and light in this dark world—well that was a miracle in its own right. The guests cheered and Elsie had no choice but to smile and nod and fake it._

 _Soup was served. A butler placed the bowl of a light vegetable broth in front of Elsie. She saw her reflection warped in the green, clear liquid. Her face twisted and turned among the carrots and potatoes and lentils that floated among the stew. Evermoving with the motion of her spoon. All she saw was a girl that was being rewarded for lying. Her stomach churned where her anxiety continued to grow. How could Elsie, a country girl, denounce the intellectual Sir Arthur Conan Doyle who supported her—believed in her charade time and time again? She couldn't bear to look at herself, not even in a simple bowl of soup._

* * *

"Well, this is perfect timing. I came here to talk about our engagement anyway. I want to call it off." Elizabeth said as she stood before both her ex-fiancé and Elsie.

Elsie, infuriated, pushed herself off Ciel and marched straight towards Bardroy while hurriedly curtsying at Elizabeth. Elizabeth was a noble woman, and Elsie knew she was only a simple county girl. No doubt Elizabeth wanted to sear Elsie over a bonfire for approaching Ciel. Then again, maybe it was Ciel whom Elizabeth was going to roast for two timing the both of them. Regardless, Elsie's mind was preoccupied with more important things. Tommy. "Take me to my friend." She said to Bardroy.

Bardroy nodded. He swung the hammer over his shoulder as the toothpick in his mouth bobbed up and down. "Right this way."

The chef with the bloody apron led Elsie to the cellar where Tommy was hopefully still alive and not beaten to a pulp. Elsie hoped that the red stains on Bardroy's apron wasn't Tommy's blood. She hurriedly prayed—screamed—inside herself to God Tommy was safe.

Sebastian poured the tea and left the cups on the table, despite knowing they would remain untouched. Soon, he left Ciel and Elizabeth alone in the room and waited outside, just in case his master would need him. Or stop Elizabeth from breaking everyone bone in his body.

Ciel huffed as he picked up the white sheets on the floor and tossed them on the bed. Elizabeth scuffed her heals against the wooden panels as she walked towards Ciel. Every scuff reverberated across the room.

Ciel spoke, "You have every right to call off the engagement—"

She slapped him across the face. The pain rung through his cheek, stinging him. Ciel kept his lips shut. He truly deserved that strike. "I deserved that—"

Elizabeth struck on his cheek again. Ciel could have sworn he heard Sebastian snickering in the hallway.

"You deserve that and more." Elizabeth removed her glove and no faster did Ciel move at least five feet away from her. He was behind the settee now. For defense. Not that he needed it.

"Elizabeth, let's be cordial." Ciel said, standing behind the settee. For protection.

"You want to be cordial? When did you think it was a good time to start being cordial with me? After you proposed to another behind my back?" Elizabeth swarmed behind the settee and Ciel flew across the room.

"I'm sorry for your distress. Truly, I never meant to hurt you."

"You're not sorry for me. You're sorry that I found out!" Elizabeth dashed across the room; a side table knocked over as she bustled by. A picture frame fell onto the carpet. Luckily, it didn't break, however the same could not be said about Ciel.

Sebastian heard another crash then two and checked the time on his pocket watch. It was half past two. It was taking them longer to make up than he anticipated. Mey-rin walked by with a broom and dustpan and wondered if it was necessary for her to clean up the mess.

A cat yowled in the room. Sebastian had no idea were that came from. He advised Mey-rin that now was not the best of times to interrupt the two ex-fiancés. They were clearly consumed in a heated debate that possessed all of their beings. Elizabeth's wanted to smack Ciel's into another country, which was very obvious. Just before Mey-rin left, Sebastian instructed her to leave the broom and dustpan with him. He would be needing it later.

Ciel spoke. "No, that is not the case. I should have taken responsibly and talked to you since I began to have doubts about our engagement."

"How long were you having doubts!?"

"I don't know, let me think. Maybe it was when your mother forced my signature to our engagement contract when I was 10 years old!"

"Because you were so reluctant to sign! If my mother didn't give you a push, you would have never signed."

"I was 10. Pardon me that I more interested in managing my companies and rebuilding my manor than I was in marriage. And I am not the only the one to blame. While I was finalizing trading deals in India this past winter, you were getting very close to the Prince of Portugal in Barcelona. I was wondering where you went when housewives began pulling me aside during Sunday mass releveling in the gossip they were driveling over my fiancé with a prince of all people, feigning concern over my failing marriage that has yet to begin. Their acting was very believable, for a moment I could have sworn they cared." Men who only knew Ciel by name would come up to him and mock him for failing to keep his fiancé in bed. Women would walk up to Elizabeth and chastise her for failing to keep her groom in her grasp. Strangers they never knew began gossiping about them, and even to their faces. It was shame, that Elizabeth and Ciel's private lives did not belong solely to themselves anymore.

Elizabeth gasped. "My relationship with the _Príncipe Real de Portugal e dos Algarves_ ," Elizabeth accentuated the title. "Is strictly platonic."

"That's not what the housewives were saying in church." Ciel let out a laugh of disdain. " _Vous avez partagé des macarons avec vos lèvres._ "

Elizabeth fumed. Anger simmered inside of her soul. She barked back at him in French. " _Ce n'est pas comme si tu allais les partager avec moi. Vous les hogez tous pour vous-même."_

Ciel couldn't help, but nod. She was right.

"I never knew you were one to listen to gossip—to take it seriously." Elizabeth sneered. "That's very lowly of you. You should believe me. I am your fiancé—was your fiancé. I am your first cousin." Elizabeth corrected herself.

Ciel mumbled, "and that is precisely the reason we shouldn't be married in the first place."

"Then blame our parents who groomed us to believe marriage between cousins was a suitable arrangement." The practice of marrying in the family was becoming old among the masses. People were beginning to see that it wasn't the best of ideas.

"Well, mine are dead. Who should I telephone beyond the grave for questioning?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Ciel, I didn't mean to offend you."

"Oh, you have not offended me. Not at all," Ciel said, picking up the picture frame that fell on the floor. It was a photograph of his mother, sitting up straight and holding a bouquet of flowers picked from the garden. Wisterias. Ciel looked outside the window and saw them in the gardens. After all this time, they stayed. Persisting through destruction and hell fire to remain where they are. It was just like the memory of his mother. The years may continue to fly by, but she is always there in his memory. Over the years, he has thought of her less, of their _tragedy_ , someday he hoped to forget the pain entirely. Not yet, it seemed. Ciel placed the photograph back on the side table and thought nothing more about wisterias.

Elizabeth breathed as she reexamined the room. Realizing the mess she has created in her wake. The fabric of her gown ruffled, and her heels quickly scuffed against the floor as she pushed the fallen side table upright again. Ciel helped her midway. Then in a moment of silence, an unspoken command prompted them to clean up the room.

Elizabeth picked up a pillow and placed it back on the settee. "I think I was more in love with idea of being a bride than caring about the groom I was going to marry." She laughed, softly.

"Then buy yourself a wedding gown and wear it whenever you please, there's no rule that one must be in the process of marrying to buy a gown."

Elizabeth laughed. "It's a shame that such beautiful gowns are only worn once in a woman's lifetime. I wouldn't do that; I'd end up wearing mine every day."

"It would suit a beautiful woman such as yourself."

After they cleaned the room back to its former and cleaner state, the two of them sat on the settee and this time talked. Without slapping the other on the face.

Ciel folded his arms and spoke freely. "Your mother didn't push me—"

Elizabeth gave him a look.

"—that much—to give my signature for the contract. My father wanted this marriage to happen, I was honoring his will. And you honored your mother and father as well."

Elizabeth placed her feet on top of the coffee table, which was very un-lady like, but Ciel did the same. They can be un-lady like together. "My parents wanted what's best for me. Which means to find me a well to do—and handsomely rich—suitor and marry me off to produce sons. Little boys are told they are can anything they want when they grow up, while I was trained to become a wife ever since I was a little girl. To be the _wife_ of the Queen's watchdog. To be the _wife_ of some man. To be a _wife_. That was my only job in life. For me and for so many little girls. Being a wife is a job now apparently."

"If I was a girl, I'd feel miserable too if that was my only career option in life. It all seems so bleak." Ciel deadpanned.

"Oh, but women have the potential to be the wives of so many men with different occupations. Wife of a barber, wife of a banker, wife of tailor, wife of a fishmonger—"

"I would advise any little girl, when given the opportunity, to not be the wife of a fishmonger if they detest fish for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. Especially ones caught in the River Thames."

Elizabeth snorted. The River Thames was not the cleanest of rivers, and the horrendous stench could even be smelled all throughout parliament. Parliament regularly closed meetings when the stench was unbearable. Newspapers had the ingenious idea of calling it The Great Stink. No one disagreed against the name.

Ciel spoke, "Elsie was right. Maybe becoming a nun is the best thing for girls."

"At least we wouldn't have to be stuck with men we didn't love for the rest of our lives. No offense."

"None taken."

"Ciel. In truth, I must apologize for arriving at your manor unannounced and for slapping you across the face—twice."

"Quite alright. I can't even feel the right side of my face anymore."

"I already had doubts, just like you, but my grandmother came to me in tears this morning. She apparently withheld the news of seeing you and Miss Elsie intimately together in public, at the Opera, and she wanted to spare my feelings. However, while sparring my feelings she told everyone within her social circle and then came to me to discuss my marriage saying how it was 'ruined by some lowly tramp' and then she proceeded to blame me for not being a proper woman and losing you. I'm ashamed to say that it boiled my blood hearing her speak to me that way."

Ciel gave a sour face. "How dare she say that to you. You have more class than any of those women who tell you otherwise." He ran a hand over his face. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I should have told you sooner to spare you from your grandmother's tyranny."

"Nanny calmed down after I told her I'm very close with the prince of France. You should have seen the grin on her face. She's overjoyed that I'm 'climbing my way up the social ladder,' I neglected to tell her that the prince is only interested in the intimate company of men, but that is a tale for another time her. But I will say Ciel, that I am infuriated in you for not telling me sooner. You could have spared me the tedious task of visiting wedding venues for three months." Elizabeth was trying to stall the wedding just as much as Ciel was.

"I'm sorry, but I did enjoy sampling wedding cakes."

She tossed a pillow at his head. He caught it before it smacked him on his cheek.

"Cousin, I do care for you, but I am beyond ecstatic to confess that I don't have to marry you." Elizabeth smiled, radiantly.

Any man upon hearing this would be gravely insulted, sulk for the entire day, and would cry in secret only in the company of his mother. Ciel, on the other hand, couldn't have been more thrilled. "I'm glad I don't have to marry you either."

"I don't love you!"

"Neither do I!"

Together, they celebrated in the joyous news that both are free to marry and not marry whomever they choose. Elizabeth then went on to explain how traveling has become her new love. Portugal was simply the first of her adventures around Europe. She would love to travel to Asia and ride elephants again in India. Prince Soma was gracious to let her ride his elephant around his summer estate in England. She will bring him curry buns when she visits him in his home country. After chatting she brushed off her dress and made her way to the door, with Sebastian on the other side, who may or may not have been eavesdropping the entire time. Elizabeth wished to finally meet the young lady who stole her cousin's heart. But even more so, if not today, warn Elsie of the perils she faced if she were to one day become the wife of the Queen's Watchdog. Elizabeth knew the perils. She endured countless years of training for that sole purpose. What an empty purpose that turned out to be.

Elizabeth walked down the halls, heels clicking against the marble floors. Her steps felt light, as if she were weightless, unbound to the earth. She was free, and now she will soar.

* * *

The corridor was dark and damp.

It chilled Elsie right down to her bones.

Bardroy, the chef (who looked more like he delved into dungeon torture), guided Elsie to the wine cellar—where Tommy was being held. Apparently, it was for his own good and for everyone's safety within the manor. Tommy did _try_ to assassinate the Earl of Phantomhive. Elsie couldn't believe that Tommy—her Tommy—would do that. It wasn't like him. She knew he would never hold a gun let alone shoot someone. Considering he was afraid of guns. Someone must have put him up to it. That was the only explanation Elsie would accept. Someone who wanted Ciel dead.

They stopped at a large, wooden door. It was locked. Bardroy fished for a pair of keys from his pockets, which revealed a metal bracelet jingling with dozens of rusted keys, large and small alike. Rattling in his hands as he tried one by one to jingle them into the keyhole. Sometimes Bardroy forgot which key belonged to which door. Why were there so many keys yet so few doors in the manor which he used? Half of the keys on the bracelet belonged to Finny, who manages the garage, stables, and many sheds spread across the manor that require many keys.

Elsie was convinced she would have better luck opening the door herself with her bare hands.

Bardroy let out a whistle of triumph when the lock finally clicked.

Bardroy held the door for Elsie, "ladies first."

She ran in.

He closed the door behind her.

And locked it.

Elsie looked back at him.

"Door must be locked at all times. Master's orders." Bardroy said, justifying his actions.

Elsie saw him—and ran. Tommy was lying down in a bed, stationed in front of racks of aged red and white wine. Clumps of cobwebs cluing in the corners of the ceiling, spiders building web upon web. There were bandages around his leg where the bullet hit him, and he was handcuffed to the post beside the bed. Tommy was well taken care of, but he was still chained down like a prisoner.

Tommy's eyes lit up with tenderness, "Elsie!" Without thinking he attempted to jump out of bed, but his chains rattled and pulled his arm and he was reminded once more that he was bound to his bed.

She rushed into his arms and embraced him. Feeling all her troubles vanishing in his arms. Her Tommy, her gentle Tommy, was still alive. That was all that mattered to her. In the moment, she pressed her lips upon his own and called his name, sweetly like a nightingale. How stupid she has been, for being swayed by her feelings when Tommy has always been beside her. In that moment, Tommy flushed and shamelessly thought he should be in danger more often.

When Tommy was holding her, finally in the company of a friend he could trust, he felt as if he could breathe again. Elsie had that effect on him. He cupped her face, worry stricken. "Are you alright, Elsie? Did he do anything to you?" His concern over his own situation lacked in comparison to hers. His love for her, blindsided his own pain.

Elsie shook her head, choking down tears. "No no, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about. First, you're shot and now you're chained like a dog in someone's wine cellar. What happened, Tommy? I know this isn't you. Please tell me," Elsie whispered. "Is someone blackmailing you? I know for certain you would never take up a gun at anyone. Whoever it is, the yard will put them behind bars."

Tommy held her hands within his own. She made him feel safe. "Elsie, I don't know what's going on. Honest. I was working in my bank, it was night, and all I remember is a strange man coming in—he wore an emerald ring—he was talking in a Scottish brogue, my employer meant missing, and then I'm here. Elsie—" Tommy's voice wobbled, more than he would have liked it too. "I don't remember how I got here, I was in London one moment and in the next I was holding a gun and was about to—" he didn't want to finish that sentence. His voice was weak, breaking. "Is there something wrong with me? Have I gone mad? Oh Lord, have mercy on me—"

Elsie cupped her hands around his cheeks. She wiped away a tear with her thumb that rolled down his cheek. She spoke calmly. Confidently. "You are not mad. You are gentle and kind and sharp as a whip." Something clicked inside her mind. "You said you spoke to a strange man? He wore an emerald ring and spoke with a Scottish brogue."

Tommy nodded, "Yes, he said his name was—"

"Rowan." They both said in unison and stared at each other in astonishment that they both encountered the same man in the past few weeks. Anger simmered inside of Elsie—but also fear, Rowan not only went after her, but he found her dear friend and coerced him into killing Ciel. Why? What would he gain from Ciel's death? Rowan proposed to Elsie. He said he wanted to marry her. Did he force Tommy to kill Ciel out of jealousy? Elsie wasn't sure what to make of the situation, all she knew is that she and Tommy had to get out of this manor as soon as possible.

"I'm going to get you out of here." Elsie said.

"You can't do that." From the dark corners of the cellar, Bardroy approached with a knife stained red. Dripping. Elsie saw a bucket, not too far away from her reach, she was ready to chuck it at him. She was through with fanatical men.

Bardroy panicked when she picked up the bucket and assumed a fighting stance. He backed away when he saw that the bucket was aimed strategically at his head, point blank. He bent down and picked up a silver platter, which revealed a very red rhubarb pie. He grinned, "Before you leave, have a slice of my rhubarb pie. Just made it this morning. Your friend Tommy already had some."

"And it was delicious," Tommy said, gleefully. From the moment of his stay, the staff treated him with nothing but hospitality, despite being confined to the cellar. But they made it very comfortable.

Elsie looked at the pie then to the red stained apron then back at the pie again. Oh, so the red stains weren't blood! And Bardroy stated that the hammer was used to fix one of the legs on the bed, since it was wobbling unevenly. Elsie placed the bucket back on the stone, cold floor and realized that it was infinitely rude to assault a man who was offering you (delicious) pie with a bucket. Elsie thought she understood men decently well, but through this whole ordeal, she knew she did not understand them at all. They were a complete mystery she did not want to delve into understanding, ever.

Bardroy seated himself down on a chair, backwards. He's seen many bullet wounds before in the war and tended to Tommy's sufficiently. He said the boy was lucky that the wound wasn't fatal. He even said Tommy must have caught Master Ciel in a good mood, if that was the case!

Elsie and Tommy weren't laughing.

Bardroy gulped and then instructed Tommy to change the bandages with clean ones and wash the wound at least once a day. Bardroy has seen more soldiers die from disease and infections rather than fighting on the battlefield itself. The horrors performed by doctors on injured soldiers—holding down screaming soldiers as their limbs were amputated, reusing sullied bandages between soldiers that quickly spread infection and turned healthy boys sickly, transferring puss from open wounds to a healthy soldier's because it was believed to have 'healing' properties. Thank God for the work of Florence Nightingale, the lady with the lamp, a woman that saved more lives in war than any politician behind the safety of a podium could ever do.

Someone knocked at the door.

Bardroy went to open it and there stood a young woman with blond hair that coiled like grape veins. The possessed the grace of a queen, and the beauty of a goddess. She whimsically smiled, as if spun from threads of glittering gold. She passed the chef and made a direst beeline towards Elsie. The clicking of her heels reverberated against the stone walls, becoming louder and louder as she approached Elsie (suddenly Elsie thought she needed the same bucket she wanted to chuck at Bardroy, but now there was only a slice of pie in her lap. And pie wasn't threatening. Pie was sweet and savory and was destined to be enjoyed in the company of good friends, it wasn't meant for assaulting foes or the woman who's fiancé you cheated on. Compared to all weapons in the face of dire dilemmas; pie was a joke.)

As soon as Elsie was finished pondering the laughability of pie as a means to defend herself, Elizabeth was standing right in front of her. Elizabeth Midford, the fiancé of the man she had the regrettable misfortune of falling in love with, did the last thing she thought was possible.

Elizabeth smiled at her with a sweet tenderness that Elsie never in her wildest dreams expected, "thank you."

* * *

The Phantomhive manor was still and quiet at night. It would have been quiet enough to hear the hush whispers of spirits that haunt the halls during the witching hours, but the stroke of pen, the scraping of a metal nib upon paper, and the clink of the nib against a well of ink silenced any whispering ghosts and their idle chatter. The tapping of fain against the windows silenced all restless spirits. Ciel was soon mesmerized by the rain as a far off memory soon began to sweep through his mind. Like water slowly filling up a pale. It was coming back to him slowly. How could he forget. When he was six, no, seven. His mother and him went out to the gardens and built a fairy house. It was made of paper and flowers and Ciel drew the loveliest pictures of flowers on the inside of the home. He even placed cookies and nuts on the doll house's kitchen table and a small tea pot with two cups, in case the fairies wanted to invite over guests, that were small enough for little fairy hands. His mother strung bells on the rooftop, and they jingled a lovely tune. They left the little house outside in the garden, but the rain heavily came down that night. Pouring and bitter cold. By morning, the house was washed away, of course Ciel was no longer sad about it (nor did he care), but the memory made him think of his mother. And that _did_ make him sad. Only a little.

The door creaked open.

Ciel turned his head towards the door upon the intruder. He didn't say anything, other than hum a low note—in annoyance. The intruder to enter his study was no one of importance. It was Sebastian Michaelis. Known as a butler by many but known as dog by Ciel only.

Sebastian surveyed the dark room, noting the lack of light. There were only a few candles lit. Small yellow flames that flickered their shadows over Ciel's desk, over his paperwork. Ciel dipped his pen in a well of ink and continued his work again. Recently, England has been starstruck by the advantages of electricity that can be utilized inside the home. In order to keep up with the times, the manor installed electronic circuits and light bulbs throughout every room. Now work may be conducted at later hours without the use of candles and matches—or fear of catching any of the furniture on fire by accident. Despite these wonderful innovations, Ciel was still using candles.

"Master, allow me to turn on the lights. You're going to strain your vision." Sebastian made a motion to do so, but Ciel was caught in thought and spoke in a low husky voice while his eyes remained glued on his work.

"There is no need." Ciel dipped his quill pen again. The nib clinked against the well's ridge. "Those electronic lights are too bright for me. The candles are fine."

"Very well."

"While you're here, pour me coffee."

Sebastian was a perfect servant; he knew his master's needs before his master even had to ask. A pot of coffee was already there on the table. Along with a container of cream and sugar.

"Don't forget the cream." Ciel leaned back in his chair, exhausted. He was very, very tired especially after today.

"You won't be able to sleep if you down another cup."

"I don't wish to sleep. I wish to finish my work that had the misfortune of piling up while I was attending to other matters."

Sebastian raised his eyebrow, barely, and stopped pouring the cream. "By other matters, you are referring to your canceled engagement with Elizabeth?"

Ciel peered over at Sebastian and eyed the cup of coffee. He said, softly. "More."

More cream was poured into the cup, which was then placed into Ciel's hands. Which then made its way to his lips then down his throat. Usually people became agreeable after they drank their coffee. Sadly, Ciel was the type of person who remained his wretched self even after drinking coffee. Ciel called anyone who proclaimed coffee as a cure for grumpiness a humbug. As if one cup would turn him into a pleasant person and make him a saint. Although it did awaken his senses and, in his opinion, made him a better charlatan.

Sebastian folded a napkin and placed it on Ciel's desk. "Elizabeth seemed to take the news very well."

"She slapped me across the face. Twice."

"Considering the circumstances she could have done far worse."

Ciel could have sworn that his cheek was still sore. He sipped his coffee, nodding silently in agreement. "Next time I see her, I'll thank her for her _gracious_ mercy."

"Indeed, Lady Elizabeth possesses the gifts of both compassion and generosity."

"Yes, she could have broken everyone bone in my body. But didn't. Although, I am safe to assume the same cannot be said about her mother." Ciel lifted his head up briefly, thinking. "Send Aunt Midford a telegram expressing my sincere condolences. I'll see her once her rage has simmered down—if it does."

Sebastian took a mental note of that. "Should I send another to Miss Elsie as well?"

For a moment, Ciel's eyes both widened to the size of saucers and then he slumped his head down on his desk and groaned miserably over his paperwork. Sebastian moved the ink well, so it wouldn't accidentally be knocked over. Elizabeth met with Elsie after they officially ended their engagement. Ciel didn't hear much of the conservation between the two ladies, Elsie took Tommy home a short while later, only that they mentioned Ciel's name more than once, and that they were laughing. He didn't wish to know what they were speaking of, only that it caused him to not be able to sleep tonight.

"I presume that is a no."

"No—Yes—eh, no," Ciel wiped his hands down his face, once. "Do you think Elsie is as compassionate and generous as Elizabeth?"

"My Lord, the human body possesses 206 bones. That's how many of yours will be broken."

Ciel's head made a loud thud against the desk. Sebastian took the ink well off the desk this time. "That's what I thought."

Sebastian placed the ink well beside the tray and immediately slammed his gloved hand against the desk. Ciel jerked his head up, shocked.

"Yes, out with it then." Ciel barked.

"My Lord, forgive my intrusion on your personal life, but I help you govern your personal life and without me it would be more of a mess than what it already is. You told Elsie you fell in love with her, took her out in public on numerous occasions—to the theatre, 'fairy hunting' at her residence in Cottingley which was nothing more than a plight to unveil her fraudulence."

Ciel sipped his coffee as he hid behind it.

Sebastian went on, there was a lot to discuss, "to the zoo, danced and proclaimed your love and sweet delights to her under a willow tree—"

"H-how did you know that part?" Ciel flushed. Ciel did not tell Sebastian that part of the story.

"It is no importance how I found out," Sebastian countered. "You did all these things while you were previously engaged to Elizabeth. The engagement may be officially broken, but you are a fool."

"What did you expect me to do?" Ciel countered. "When I was with Elsie, under the willow tree, which was a private affair," Ciel accentuated. "I told her I would cut off my engagement with Elizabeth and I did. I kept my word."

Sebastian combed his hand through his jet black hair, if Ciel wasn't his master he would have slapped him. "Yes, I know, and it was right after you told her you were already betrothed to your fiancé which was planned for years," Sebastian accentuated. "This may not have been a crucial detail in your mind, but usually gentlemen do not court ladies while they are already betrothed to be married. Your feeling for Elsie may be true, but you showed your lack of respect for Elizabeth for withholding the truth. Thank the God which I do not worship, that the feelings were mutual and you two ended on good terms. However, did I neglect to teach you this crucial lesson? Though I would think it is common etiquette at this point."

"Taught me anything? You're a demon, what do you possibly know about courting. Let alone love! When I order you to find criminals, you find them. When I order you dig up corpses, you dig them up. When I order you to serve me, you serve me without question."

"Well, My Lord, I do all of those things. Magnificently, if I do say so myself. And to serve you means to help as is expected of a Phantomhive butler which means calling you out on your inexcusable behavior. Honesty is the foundation in any relationship. I have existed for more than a millennium and though the world and the people within it have changed, it is a universal truth that no one enjoys having their hearts broken by someone they deeply love. Including Miss Elsie."

The candle lights flickered a pale yellow. Silence swelled the room until Ciel spoke in a somber whisper. Not even the ghosts hiding in the family portraits could hear. He spoke a truth he deeply regretted. "I broke her heart."

"Yes, you did. Of all the ways to insult ladies, you take first place. You fool." Sebastian vigorously pulled out a napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it beside the coffee cup.

"Every time when I was with Elsie…I forgot about everything. I only thought of her and her company, no one else. She made me…happy." Ciel wrapped his hands around his coffee cup. He caught his reflection staring back at him. One blue eye and the other which reflected the contract that would lead him to his undoing. How many more years did he have left until the contract was completed? One, five, ten? Ciel didn't harp on it.

Sebastian lifted his hands off the desk and adjusted his cufflinks. "This is the happiest you have been in all my years of serving you."

"Shocking, isn't it. It's very unlike me." Ciel's thumb traced the edge of the cup. His thoughts began to wander down a stream of consciousness that left his heart feeling warm, as they usually did when he thought of Elsie. "If the rays of the sun chose to walk among the earth in one person, then that would be Elsie. She is light incarnate; at times I wonder if it is alright that I may walk amongst her side. If she walks among the clouds, she does so with grace, even the stars would know her name. Know her kindness, her beauty, her stubbornness." He smiled and then his mouth slowly formed the words before his mind could process them. "I love her."

Sebastian stared at Ciel, silently. Love. It was a special kind of stupidity, one that demons had the fortune of never feeling. "You should be telling her all of this."

Ciel leaned back against his chair. "It will not make any difference now. She has no reason to forgive me." He swirled his chair towards the window. He saw the pitch black world that laid beyond the glass. Wondering what Elsie was doing at this hour, probably sleeping away her heartache or cursing his name. Ciel had no reason to forgive himself either. There was no excuse for him to toy with her heart. He lost the love of his life. He deserved it.

And yet he wanted her back. All of her to himself.

Sebastian was the definition of a perfect servant. He knew his master's desires before his master told him himself. He removed his white glove, revealing his bare hand that bore the mark of the contract between him and his master. Sebastian is bound by the contract to fulfill his master's wishes—whatever they may be. Sebastian reached out his hand towards the candles and the weak, yellow flames soon changed their hue to a dark and somber blue. Ciel was unfazed as shadows took over the room, withering and growing. Enigmas that lurked only in the night festered in his private study. "My Lord, if you truly wish for the girl to be yours then all you need to do is ask—"

With a snap of his fingers, shadows took form and there on the settee laid Elsie whose hair was unbound and sprawled across her shoulders and down her back, covering her bare breasts. Her hair ascended over her voluptuous curves, leaving strands that covered some areas and others that revealed everything entirely. Pink and supple. Her complexion somehow sparkled as if the moonshine blessed her itself. Elsie breathed. Her chest rising and falling. Her lips were soft just the same as Ciel has seen them on his beloved and even in his dreams. Every fiber in Ciel wanted him to press his lips on top of hers. To embrace her warmth. To hold her in his arms. To touch her skin. All of her. He wanted all of her.

"Ask and you will receive." Sebastian purred.

Her legs slowly moved, withering in pleasure, yet her knees remained shut together. She emitted a laugh—that sung like the ringing of silver bells. _'Come to bed with me. Keep me warm.'_

The shadowy figure's eyes were faint and glassy. Ciel, without a second more, picked up his pen and held in air and waited for Sebastian to bring the ink well back to him so he could dip his quill again. Ciel resumed his work again, annoyed this time. "Enough of your games and leave me alone to my work."

"As you wish." Sebastian bowed and the shadowy figure of Elsie vanished like smoke in thin air. The room returned to its previous state of order without any bare ladies to distract any young lords.

Just as Sebastian was about to leave, Ciel stopped him. "I told you when we first met. Illusions mean nothing to me. Elsie is more complicated than one of your shadow puppets. Either she accepts me or she does not, and I respect her decision. I do not respect her decision by mucking around with a copy of her."

Sebastian turned towards his master. His smile radiated mockery, but also sincere truth. "I have lived for more than a millennium and have seen the world and the people change within it. Even though time has passed, people still cling to anything that can offer solace. To have something close to real, even if it is only an illusion, nothing more than shadows and glamor, offers more happiness than they could find anywhere else."

"And are they happy? Truly happy with just an illusion?"

"None of whom I crafted the illusions for have told me otherwise."

"Well, I care not for it. That is not where my happiness lies."

"Wise decision."

"First you call me a fool and then you call me wise. Make up your mind, demon."

"My opinion of you is everchanging, but I will keep that in mind."

Ciel mumbled, sarcastically. "That is what every employer wants to hear from their servants."

Before Sebastian left, Ciel told him to fetch him another pot of coffee. Ciel had a long night ahead him. When Ciel was left alone with his thoughts he truly thought of an unfortunate thing. Sebastian was really the only one he could confess everything to inside of the manor. It might have been an exaggeration to say that Sebastian was Ciel's only friend that stayed by his side, always loyal and faithful to him and only him. Never betraying him in any way. Always protecting him from the dangers beyond the hills of the manor all the way to English court. It was a pity really that this friendship had to be bought, albeit with his soul. Ciel pondered if that was truly the price for unbreakable loyalty. In marriage, partners give all of themselves away to their partners. Ciel lamented that he could never forfeit all of himself to Elsie. That he has nothing of true importance, not even his soul, to give.

* * *

 _The plague made its way inside the castle._

 _It first took the servants, then members of court, and finally the king—the very heart of the kingdom. Disease is equal in all those it infects. It does not discriminate between status nor class. It had no qualms against infecting the Queen, thorns of death gripped her throat and slowly consumed her. Withering her away._

 _The plague was given a name by the survivors who watched their loved ones perish from the disease: Rosula. Named after the roses that bloom from the corpses after taking a Fae's life. First the victims cough up rose petals, red as blood. Then the plague is cruel and plays an awful trick on its victims. The petals subside, and the victim's strength returns, but only before the stems and thorns break through the skin. Agonizingly bleeding the victim from the inside out. The final stage of the plague is when the crimson roses bloom. Death quickly follows and the roses consume the corpse in feverish carnage._

 _The same fate awaits all roses, they bud, bloom, and die. The Fae were not accustomed to this awful fate—nor did that ever want to be._

 _Where there are roses, there is death. Where there is a Queen lying on her death bed, there is her son kneeling beside her. Holding her hand._

 _Arawn held his mother's hand in his own. Tears streaming down his cheeks. He was not a man; he was only a child mourning the loss of his father and now his mother. The final phase of the plague was not contagious, as far as the doctors were able to deduce. There was no harm in Arawn, first born son and heir to the throne, saying his final goodbye to the queen._

 _Tears warped his vision. The world blurred around him. He saw his mother and held tightly onto her hand as if that was enough to keep her away from death. He held onto that notion and wouldn't let her go. He couldn't let her go. Thorns that broke through the Queen's skin struck through Arawn's hand. His own blood dripped with his mother's. So be it. The pain of a single thorn did not compare to the pain of losing a mother._

 _Rowan was there in the Queen's chambers as well, further way from the queen and Arawn. Pain ached his heart, but it was not for the Queen. His heartache only stemmed from Arawn's sadness. His older brother was in pain and he could do nothing about it. Arawn may have been his brother, but the Queen was not his mother. She never treated him like a son. It was only through Arawn that Rowan was adopted into the royal family. The queen could never accept an impure Fae as her child, but she did tolerate Rowan—for Arawn's sake. Rowan was still insignificant in the Queen's eyes, even in her final moments amongst the living. So Rowan stood silently in the back of the chambers as he watched the queen's body and Arawn's heart bleed._

 _Arawn's hair glistened like moonshine just like his mother's. Strands of pure silver and fallen snow. Both of their sapphire eyes were blessed by the same shooting stars. The queen sucked in a breath; it was becoming harder for her to breathe._

 _Arawn's voice wobbled as he cried on her bedsheets. "Don't leave me, mother. Please don't leave me."_

 _The Queen's breathing was shallow, and her eyes were beginning to fade. Those blue orbs of sapphire were becoming dull. Her magic was fading. The Queen sighed and used the last of her strength to speak to her beloved child. She had the gift of seeing the future and she told her son just so. "My precious starlight, you will have a beautiful day tomorrow."_

 _Arawn shook his head, gravely. "Only if you are there with me."_

 _The Queen smiled. Her lips quivered. Tears welled in her eyes. She wished that were true. "That is," She breathed, pausing to catch her breath. "A wonderful dream. Tell me about it."_

 _Arawn's voice was weak and his crying didn't stop. He told his mother that they will walk in the gardens tomorrow, they will run through the maze, Arawn would forget which way he turned and inevitably become lost. Then he would call out for his mother and magically she would find him. She will always come help him when he is in need. She will always come find him when he calls out to her. He never thought of the day when she would stop coming. He wasn't prepared for that day. He wasn't ready to let her go. Not now._

 _This was his final moment with his mother, but he talked of their future. He talked about her reprimanding him for sneaking away apple tarts from the kitchen chefs before dinner. He talked of her flying with him over Fellia's Peak and the Sea of Crusoe. She will fly beyond the clouds with her magnificent wings and he would follow. He talked of her telling him stories that only she could tell within the whole kingdom. He talked of their future, which was long and happy. A future that lasted hundreds of years. It was not a future that would end now. Because he was still holding her hand and she was still here with him._

 _For a moment, the Queen's gaze drifted away from Arawn and to Rowan, which caught Rowan off guard. His stomach twisted into a knot. He didn't know what to say. The queen didn't say nothing to him but gazed into his emerald green eyes. Whether she liked it or not, Rowan was all Arawn had left to call family. Rowan realized that truth within the Queen's eyes. He wouldn't let her down._

" _Arawn," the Queen whispered, turning her attention back to her true child. A tear rolled down her cheek. In all of her years of living, she was never told a more beautiful tomorrow than this. She never wanted anything more than to attain that tomorrow. An unattainable dream._

 _The stems were growing. The roses were blooming. Her time was coming._

 _The queen ushered her son to lean in closer to tell him one last thing. Arawn leaned towards his mother, her mouth pressed against his ear as she spoke softly to him, Rowan couldn't hear what she said._

 _Arawn leaned back slowly. His face was still and emotionless. The last of his tears fell upon the roses that bloomed from his mother's corpse. His tears upon her cheeks. "The queen is dead."_

* * *

 _The moment the Queen died, Arawn was surrounded by members of court proclaiming, 'long live the king! Long live the king!' Maybe they hoped to earn favor with the young prince. But Arawn ignored them all. He could barely look them in the eyes as they mourned over his parent's death to quickly celebrating his ascendance to the throne. Looking at these fae folk made him sick to his stomach. He did not want their to hear their sympathy or their pity, so he locked himself in his room and put a spell on the door. Anyone who would touch the nob would experience the wraith of fire upon their blistery skin. Arawn wanted to be left alone, and the castle let him._

 _Arawn was still too young to be crowned king. He would have a reagent in his place and when he was of age, then he would take the throne as the rightful heir._

 _Arawn laid on his side as he wallowed in bed. He held a book within his hands. The one his mother would read to him at night when he begged her to do, putting aside her duties as Queen for him. He didn't open it. He didn't even have the energy to read. It laid in his hand, unopen and unread. It only gave him comfort and that was enough for him. He only silently stared at the scars on his hands—on his palms—left by the thorns from his holding his mother's hand—her corpse. He only stared and stared at the only reminder he has left of her on his skin._

 _Arawn did not have the strength to close the window or the breeze created by his little brother who was currently flying on the other side of it. Rowan landed into the room; wind upswept the curtains and furniture. Rowan would have used the door, but his prefers his hands not scorching red with burning fire._

 _Rowan brought snacks for his brother, since Arawn hasn't eaten in days. But the boy on the bed simply groaned and turned on his side, ignoring the basket of apples and cheese and canteens of water. Rowan plopped onto the bed and began to cut an apple regardless of his older brother's moping._

" _You need food." Rowan asserted._

" _Get out." Arawn mumbled. There was nothing left in his voice. It was hollow and empty._

" _Not until you finish this entire apple."_

 _Arawn groaned._

 _Rowan groaned back. He cut an apple slice and traveled over Arawn's body to reach his other side to stuff the apple in his mouth. He placed the apple slice on his brother's lips and waited until a bite was taken._

 _It took a while, but Arawn bit the tip of the apple slice before the sun set. He couldn't finish the whole apple, but he did have a few bites mainly due to Rowan's protesting._

 _They laid down beside each other in solitude. Nigh was soon approaching. Suddenly, Arawn didn't feel as lonely as he did before. He even began to speak more than just a gurgle of incoherent groans. "This wasn't how I was supposed to become king."_

" _You'll make a great king. The kindest king the world has ever known."_

" _What if I'm not ready."_

" _You are."_

" _How do you know?"_

" _I do."_

" _How?"_

" _I just do."_

 _Arawn remained quiet as he listened to the bell toll outside in the courtyard. It is a ritual of mourning to pay respects to the king and queen that perished from the plague. His parents may have died from the plague, but the plague is still rampant throughout the kingdom. A monster that will not rest, battling its next victim after every life it takes. Fae folk were still dying, parents were still losing children, and children were still losing parents. There was no cure to end this minion of darkness._

" _Rowan, you're all I have left." Arawn whispered. "Promise me that you'll never leave my side."_

" _I promise." Rowan yawned, as restlessness consumed his body. His stretched his legs and pulled the covers over him._

 _Arawn held onto Rowan's hand and nudged him awake before sleep could take him. "Rowan, please. Promise me that you'll never leave me." His heart ached when he said those words, but it was the truth. Deep down in his heart, Arawn knew he couldn't survive another goodbye. It would surely end him._

 _The bells continued to toll. Ringing their sad melody throughout the midnight sky and solemn kingdom. Rowan closed his eyes, opened them, and yawned. Staring into his brother's eyes that reminded him of an ocean that belongs to a land in a far off realm—a hazy memory of a life that he used to live. But Rowan was tired, and it was night. He couldn't remember that realm he thought he knew. The only home to him was here—with Arawn. The bells ring for all of them. For the ones that have fallen yesterday, today, and for the ones that will fall tomorrow. Rowan clenched his brother's hand, kindly. "Never."_

 _They fell asleep to the ringing of the bells. Hands interwoven. Spirits unbreakable._

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you guys for reading! Did you enjoy the chapter? What did you think and what were your favorite parts? Let me know what you thought pretty please XD

So, I'm sorry (once again) for not updating in a while U_U , but long chapters make up for lack of updates (Eh, maybe? XD) SO! Tommy is fine (ehhh, he's healing XD) and Ciel and Elizabeth finally ended their engagement, but the relationship between Elsie and Ciel still needs to be mended U_U I hoped you guys enjoyed the first scene, a flashback with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (who supported Elsie irl) and Elsie's inner turnoil and guilt over her lie but even more so when the lie became too big to admit the truth. And the last scene when Arawn's mother (the queen) died due to Rosula, the plague. Please review *hearts* If I try my best and work around my schedule, I think I can get the next chapter out by July! (maybe dfgdf) Thank you to those who came to the story blog (Aroseforelsie) and left lovely asks, I love you all so much!

I really hoped you guys enjoyed this chapter, and thank you to everyone who reads, reviews, favs, and follows the story! I love you! See you guys next time ;)


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